The Faded Frequency
The letter arrived on a Tuesday, sealed with wax the color of dried blood, and it was addressed not to the man who lived in the tower, but to the tower itself, as if the stone had a name that mattered more than his own. Elias Vane did not open it immediately; he held it in his hands, feeling the weight of the paper against his calloused palms, while the wind outside howled through the narrow...
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