The Pale Fracture
The air in the Hollow did not taste of wind or rain but of old iron and the metallic tang of forgotten blood, a flavor that coated the back of my throat like a second tongue, forcing me to swallow repeatedly as I navigated the labyrinthine corridors of the Undercroft, where the light was not the sun’s golden gift but a pale, sickly luminescence that seeped from the porous walls themselves,...
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