The Pale Tower
"Show me the flaw." The voice was not loud, but it filled the small, stone-walled room with a weight that pressed against the eardrums. Elara stood before the great loom, her hands hovering over the warp. She did not look up. Her fingers, stained indigo to the second knuckle, trembled slightly. The air in the Guild Hall smelled of wet wool, sheep’s lanolin, and the sharp, metallic tang of...
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