The Distant Metropolis
The air in the Undercroft tasted of wet limestone and old iron, a flavor that had seeped into the very marrow of your bones long before you realized you were there, or perhaps even before you realized you were anyone at all. You are small, you are quiet, and you are holding it, the thing that does not belong to the dark, the thing that glows with a soft, persistent, and terrifying constancy. It...
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