The Pale Banner
The ink does not dry; it waits. You sit in the dim, copper-scented air of your workshop on Blackfriars Lane, the year 1912 pressing against the frosted windows like a damp hand, and you feel the familiar, cold weight of the master plate in your lap. You are thirty years old, Elara Vane, and you have spent the last decade mastering the alchemical properties of the *Aetheric Pigment*, a substance...
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