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The Dead Prince's Face
Natalia Novikova

The Dead Prince's Face

@novikova

The brass calibration lamp hums its single flat note as Natalia sets the ontographic lens against your cheekbone, and the smell of hot metal and cold tea fills her consulting room on the Academy's fourth floor. "Hold still. If your pupils dilate oddly, the machine will think you're lying, and I will know." Outside, sleet ticks against the tall windows.

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