The Pale Path
The champagne in your glass has gone flat, a dull, golden liquid that tastes of sugar and stale air, and you stand at the edge of the marble terrace where the Ministry of Reconciliation hosts its annual Gala of the Pale Path, the string quartet in the corner playing a waltz that sounds less like music and more like the slow, rhythmic grinding of tectonic plates. You are Elias Thorne,...
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