The Wistful Petal
The drill bit shrieks against the granite, a high, thin note that vibrates in the molars before it reaches the ears. You press your palm flat against the wall, feeling the grit of the dust and the terrifying, rhythmic pulse beneath the stone, a heartbeat that is not yours. This is the Spire, the last unsold asset in the floating district of Aethelgard, and it is dying. Or perhaps it is eating....
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