The Pale Fracture
The smell of the Pale Court was not of stone, nor of the damp earth that clung to the boots of the arriving, but of a sharp, chemical sourness, like vinegar left too long in a copper pot, a scent that settled in the back of the throat and refused to leave. It was the scent of the sash, that white linen band which every soul who crossed the threshold was required to bind around their waist, a...
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