The Distant Promise
The rain did not fall so much as it existed, a persistent, grey membrane that pressed against the high, leaded windows of the St. Jude’s Watchtower, a structure of stone and shadow that had stood on the jagged edge of the moor for three hundred years, defying the wind with a stubbornness that felt less like architecture and more like a held breath. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of...
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