The Wistful Atlas
You wake in the center of the Hall of Echoes, a structure that defies the geometry of the waking world, where the pillars are carved from solidified sound and the floor is a mirror of black water that does not ripple. The air tastes of ozone and old iron, a metallic tang that coats the back of your throat, reminding you of the taste of blood before the first cut. You are still wearing your...
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