The Golden Compass
The black water did not rise; it climbed, a slow, deliberate spiral that defied the pull of the earth, curling upward from the floorboards of Elias Thorne’s workshop toward the exposed rafters. It was a phenomenon that had no name in the cartographer’s lexicon, a liquid that behaved less like a fluid and more like a living thing, breathing in the dim light of the ancient valley of Aethelgard....
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