The Pale Tower
The bell tower of St. Jude’s had been leaning for a hundred years, but on the morning the sky turned the color of a bruise, it fell. It did not crash. It slid. A slow, groaning exhalation of stone and mortar that shattered the cobblestones and buried the lower church in a cloud of white dust. Thomas Ashworth stood on the street corner, his hands still gripping the hilt of a sword he had not...
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