The Pale Tale

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 08:56:48 -

The Pale Tale

The tower stood in the dream. It was made of white stone, smooth as bone. I was climbing it. My hands bled on the rungs, but I did not feel pain. I only felt the pull. The air was thin. It tasted of iron and old rain. I woke in the mud. The sky above was the color of a bruise. Gray. Heavy. It pressed down on the heath like a wet wool blanket. I sat up. My head throbbed. A dull, rhythmic ache...

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