The Pale Tower
The dream was always the same, a recurring bruise on the mind of Sir Julian Vane. He stood in a hall of white marble, the air thick with the scent of ozone and old blood, and before him loomed the Tower. It was not a structure of stone, but of light, a pale, oscillating column that pierced the sky and the earth simultaneously. In his dream, he was not a knight in armor, but a prisoner in rags,...
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