The Pale Tower
The room was not a room at all, but a vast, breathing expanse of amber light that stretched out like a field of ripe wheat under a sun that never set. It smelled of ozone and old paper, a scent that clung to the back of the throat like a memory one could not quite place. Thomas stood in the center of it, his shoes sinking slightly into the soft, glowing dust that covered the floor. He was...
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