The Wistful Crossroads
You have been walking for three days, though the landscape suggests you have been walking for years, the air thick with the scent of damp wool and the metallic tang of the ironworks that hum in the distance, a low, subsonic thrum that vibrates in your teeth and settles into the marrow of your bones. You are Dr. Arthur Vane, or you were, before the university stripped you of your chair and your...
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