The Pale Tower
The rain had been falling for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that turned the world outside our windows into a blurred watercolor of slate and mud. I sat in the corner of the living room, my knees drawn up to my chest, watching the condensation bead on the glass and trace slow, weeping lines down the pane. My hands, once steady enough to steady a rifle at two hundred yards, now trembled...
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