The Pale Tower
The bell of St. Jude’s did not toll; it screamed. It was a sound that tore through the humid, incense-thick air of the nave, a shriek of iron against stone that seemed to crack the very foundations of the city. You stood in the shadows of the transept, your hand pressed flat against the cold, damp wall, feeling the vibration of the catastrophe thrum through your bones. The congregation was a...
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