The Pale Tower
You are standing in the basement of the old textile mill, the air thick with the scent of wet wool and rusted iron, while the water rises around your ankles, cold and indifferent. It is a Tuesday in November, the year is 1912, and the industrial heart of the town beats with a rhythm that has long since stopped matching your own. You are a man who has spent twenty years wearing a uniform, a man...
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