The Pale Tower
The road to the estate was a ribbon of mud that had turned to glass in the frost, slick and treacherous under the hooves of the horse. Elias Thorne sat hunched in the carriage, his coat buttoned tight against the biting wind that cut through the valley. He was a man who had spent his life in the quiet dust of university libraries, studying the architecture of minds that had long since ceased to...
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