The Pale Fracture
The dream was not a narrative but a sensation, a heavy, wet cold that seeped through the floorboards of the Hall of Whispers, a place where the air tasted of iron and old dust and where the silence was so thick it pressed against the eardrums like deep water. Sir Julian Ashworth stood in the center of the circular chamber, his back to the Great Mirror, and he felt the weight of the silver chain...
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