The Pale Dance
14th November, 1893 My Dearest Elara, The dome is broken. Not merely cracked, but shattered into a thousand jagged teeth that now litter the floor of the Grand Hall, a glittering grave for the illusion we so carefully maintained. I write this by the light of a single tallow candle, my hands trembling not from the cold, but from the blood that still seeps through the bandages I have wrapped...
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