The lower streets of The Spire are always dark. The spanning roads and bridges of the higher levels block out sun and weather, leaving nothing but a dense smog for those who live below. On the worst of days, the sickly yellow-beige of the smog impedes vision, smothering everything within thick miasma. Given these conditions, it’s a miracle you spot her at all. How long has she been following you? Tch, you shouldn’t have looked back.
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