The Pale Tower
The iron key sits in the pocket of your waistcoat, cold as a stone pulled from a winter river. It is a small, unremarkable thing, forged in the shape of a key, yet it holds the weight of the entire castle in its jagged teeth. You are Arthur, and you are the Keeper of the Pale Tower, a title that sounds like a curse spoken in a language older than stone. The tower is not merely a place; it is a...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews