The Pale Tower
The rain did not fall so much as it was exhaled by the sky, a heavy, gray breath that settled upon the shingles of the isolated estate and seeped into the bones of the house itself. Thomas Bradshaw walked the perimeter of the garden, his boots sinking into the mud that had turned the once-manicured lawn into a treacherous bog, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts that misted in the cold air...
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