The Faded Ruin
The tower stands. It is old. Older than your father. Older than the stone it rests upon. You climb. The wind cuts. It is sharp. It is cold. It tastes of iron. It tastes of blood. You do not stop. You cannot stop. The steps are worn. The stone is smooth. Your hands slide. You catch. You grip. The rock bites back. It is warm. It is alive. You are high. The world is far. The world is small. The...
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