Vaguely, Holland recalled lying in the Stone Forest, numb to everything but the slow fading of his pulse. And after, the drag of the abyss. A darkness he assumed was death. But death had rejected him, delivering him to this place. And it could only be one place. Black London.
One of the most exciting things about being a story's creator instead of its consumer is knowing secrets before the audience, such as knowing that Holland and Black London would both be making a reprisal. I so looked forward to being able to write a scene set in the strange and mysterious lost world. And no character was better suited to be our guide than the White London Antari.
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