The Wistful Skyline
The tower stood at the edge of the moor, a jagged tooth of grey stone biting into the low, bruised sky. It was not a castle, nor a church, but a watchtower, though it had long since forgotten its purpose. For Elias, it was simply the place where his brother lived. Or rather, the place where the idea of his brother lived. Elias was twelve years old and possessed of a lightness that his family...
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