In the city of Terrene, every citizen was defined by their Imprint —a tangible, clay-like substance mined from the Valley of Echoes. At birth, your first cry was pressed into a shard. At death, your last word was sealed in a brick. Memory was currency. History was architecture.
Clayra Beau had always been told she was hollow. clayra beau
One night, her pickaxe struck something soft. Not stone. Not clay. Skin. In the city of Terrene, every citizen was
"Exactly," she said. "That means I have room for everyone else's." In the city of Terrene