The Pale Letter
The bell tower stood like a bone in the sky. Silas Vane looked up. He counted the bricks. One. Two. Three. The mortar was grey. It was old. It was strong. He held the letter. It was white. It was pale. It was soft to the touch. Like skin. Like ash. The wind bit his fingers. He did not shiver. He was a man of work. He was a mason. He knew stone. He knew weight. He knew balance. The letter was...
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