The Pale Tower
The bell in the Cathedral of Saint Jude does not ring so much as it shudders, a low, tectonic groan that vibrates through the cobblestones and up into the marrow of your bones. You are standing in the nave, alone, though the air is thick with the scent of burning tallow and the lingering damp of the autumn rain that has besieged the city for three days. You hold the Pale Tower in your left...
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