The Pale Tale
The bell tower of St. Jude’s rang not with sound, but with a pressure in the teeth. You felt it before you heard it. A low, grinding hum that vibrated up through the floorboards of the archive room. You were not supposed to be there. You knew this. You knew the rules. You knew that the clock mechanism was the only thing holding the building’s foundation together, a metaphor for the city itself....
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