Chapter 54 · for subscribers
The seat was worn into a hollow the shape of a nineteen-year-old girl who could make water run uphill. A sect had taken her for the finest talent it had ever seen, put her wrists in those cuffs, and poured her into a mountain for a century, and the hollow was the only record of her the sect had kept. Somebody had swept the floor and chalked the hour over the door.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.