The Pale Echo
The glass is broken, Elias. You hear the shatter before you see the light, a sound like a bone snapping under a boot, followed by the wet, heavy silence of the archive. You are on your knees, your palm pressed against the cold stone floor, the taste of copper thick in your mouth. Your hand is a ruin of red, the skin peeled back to the white of the bone, yet you do not feel the pain. You feel...
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