The Pale Tower
"You see it, don't you? The way the light bends around the spire as if it were ashamed to touch it, or perhaps as if it were a blade waiting to be drawn from its sheath by a hand that has forgotten the art of mercy." I turned to look at you, though the air between us felt thick with the dust of centuries, a suspended fog that smelled of wet stone and old blood. We stood in the center of the...
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