Emerging from the darkness of the ventilation shaft, Queen Amara stepped onto the soft, manicured turf of the Sunken Rose Gardens of Sunspire. After the suffocating, damp chill of the subterranean storm drains, the night air was intoxicating: crisp with the salty sea breeze coming off the gulf, fragrant with the perfume of thousands of blooming white damask roses, and silent as a held breath. The gardens were an architectural…
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