The Distant Affair
The tower stood not as a monument to power, but as a cage of bone-white stone, piercing the bruised belly of the twilight sky. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp wool and ancient candle wax, a perfume of decay that Wren had long since stopped noticing, the way one stops noticing the slow erosion of one’s own lungs. She was twelve, a girl of sharp elbows and quiet eyes, bound to...
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