The Pale Tower
The rain in Oakhaven did not fall so much as it accumulated, a heavy, grey mist that settled into the stones and the bones of the city, turning the cobblestones into slick, black mirrors that reflected the flickering gaslamps of the Watchmen. It was a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday; the days had begun to bleed into one another for Elias Thorne, a man whose life was measured not by hours but by...
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