The Pale Tower
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended grief that coated the windows of the observation tower in a film of cold, unbroken silence. Elias Thorne stood before the glass, his reflection a ghostly overlay of uniform and bone, watching the fog swallow the village of Oakhaven below, a place that had once been defined by the crisp geometry of its white picket fences and the loud,...
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