The Distant Metropolis
The humidity in the sub-basement of the St. Jude’s Archive was not merely damp but a living, breathing entity, a dense fog that clung to the skin and settled into the pores, carrying with it the faint, metallic scent of oxidizing iron and the sweet, rotting perfume of decaying cellulose, a microclimate that had persisted for decades, undisturbed by the shifting seasons above, where the autumn...
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