The Distant Crown
The air tasted of iron and ozone. You are bleeding. You do not know where the cut is. You only feel the warmth spreading across your skin. It is not your skin. Or perhaps it is. The boundary is thin. It is tearing. You stand in the center of the vault. The walls are glass. Thick, reinforced glass. They hum with a low, subsonic frequency that vibrates in your teeth. Outside the glass, the city...
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