The Pale Tower

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 12:41:53 -

The Pale Tower

The feast hall was a throat of stone and shadow, wide enough to swallow the sound of our own breathing. We sat in the long trestles, the wooden benches creaking under the weight of men who had not slept in three days. The air smelled of stale beer, wet wool, and the metallic tang of blood that no amount of scrubbing had washed from the floorboards. It was the eve of the execution, and the town...

0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews