The Pale Tower

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2026-08-19 13:59:25 -

The Pale Tower

The coat was wool, heavy and dark, the kind that smelled of damp wool and old tobacco. It had belonged to my father, then to my grandfather, and now it hung on the back of my office chair like a shroud I had forgotten to remove. The fabric was thinning at the elbows, the lining peeling away in gray flakes that settled on my desk like ash. I watched them drift, suspended in the dry air...

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