The Pale Tower
The iron gate of the Abbey of St. Jude stood open, a jagged wound in the ancient stone wall, exhaling the cold breath of the valley. I had carried the heavy oak door of my cell for thirty years, but never with the weight that settled on my shoulders that morning. The mist hung low, clinging to the mossy flagstones, erasing the horizon until the world was nothing but gray stone and the sound of...
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