The Pale Tower
You tell yourself it is a cough. A dry, rattling thing lodged deep in the chest, like a stone in a shoe. You walk the ridge. The air here is thin and tastes of iron. You are climbing. You have always been climbing, but this time the path is different. It is not a trail of dirt or gravel. It is a line of white light, barely visible, cutting through the dark pines. You follow it because you are a...
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