The Pale Tower

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2026-08-18 07:15:06 -

The Pale Tower

The rain in Harrow Creek did not fall so much as it hung, a fine, gray mist that settled into the pores of the skin and the wood of the houses. It was a dampness that smelled of wet wool and old iron, a scent that had defined the town for three generations. I had lived here since I was a girl, and I knew the rhythm of the weather better than I knew the rhythm of my own breathing. My name is...

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