The Pale Tower
The smell of the mortar is gone, and that is the first thing you notice as you stand at the threshold of the High Keep, the stone beneath your boots cold and damp with a dew that feels less like water and more like the condensation of a held breath. You are leaving, not because you have been cast out, but because the air inside has become too thin to sustain the weight of what you know. It is a...
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