The Distant Blade
The tower fell on a Tuesday. I was there. I watched. It broke. The stone did not shatter. It crumbled. Dust rose like grey snow. It settled on my coat. It settled on my eyes. I did not blink. I stood at the base of the scaffolding. The wood groaned. The iron held. For a moment, the sky was blocked. Then the light returned. It was blinding. I am a historian. I study the architecture of the old...
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