The Pale Tower
"Did you see the blood on the threshold, Elias? It was still wet when I arrived at dawn." I looked up from my ledger, the quill scratching a final, meaningless line into the parchment. The ink had not yet dried, a dark, viscous vein that seemed to pulse against the ragged edge of the paper. I did not look at Father Thomas. I knew he was standing there, his shadow stretching long and thin across...
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