The Pale Tower
The iron door shudders under the weight of your hammer, a dull, rhythmic thud that echoes through the corridors of the house like a second heartbeat. You do not pause to catch your breath. You do not check your reflection in the tarnished silver of the frame, though you know it is there, waiting, pale and gaunt, watching you with eyes that have seen too much of the dark. The house is breathing....
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews