The Distant Joke
The tower stood not as a monument to human ambition, but as a wound in the sky, a jagged scar of black stone that pierced the eternal twilight of the Northern Isles. I remembered it first in a dream that had no beginning, only the sensation of falling upward, my lungs filled with the taste of iron and old snow. In that dream, I was not a man, but a part of the structure itself, a brick bound to...
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