The Pale Tower
The wind off the moor does not care about your tenure, or the grant you missed, or the way your hands shake when you try to light a match in the kitchen of the old stone house that you and Callum rented for the summer. It just blows, cold and wet, rattling the loose pane in the window, a sound that feels less like weather and more like a warning you have ignored for too long. You are sitting on...
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