The Distant Metropolis
The dream did not begin with a waking, but with a weight. It was a heavy, velvet weight that settled upon the shoulders of Dr. Elias Thorne, pressing him down into the silt of the riverbed where he had been walking for what felt like an eternity. In the dream, the water was not wet but thick, a viscous suspension of ink and old blood, and the air smelled of ozone and burning parchment. Elias...
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