The Distant Wound
The air in the palace laboratory did not smell of dust or old paper, as one might expect in a place of such profound academic decay, but rather of a sharp, metallic rot that coated the back of the tongue and settled in the lungs like a fine, grey silt, a pervasive and uncanny saturation that seemed to corrode the very organic matter it touched, turning the vibrant green of the ferns in the...
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