The Faded Quadrant
You are standing in the shadow of the Great Hall’s northern transept, where the stone floor, worn by the feet of kings and the scuttling of rats alike, has polished itself into a smooth, dark mirror that reflects not your face but the abyss beneath it, a void that seems to pull at the hem of your robe and the very marrow of your bones, forcing you to confront the terrible, architectural truth...
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