The Pale Tower
The bell did not ring; it screamed, a high, thin shriek that tore through the heavy, damp air of the infirmary and lodged itself in the marrow of Edward Ashworth’s bones. He woke not with a gasp, but with a profound, terrifying stillness, as if his soul had been siphoned out of his body and replaced with cold, wet stone. The room was dim, lit only by the guttering flames of tallow candles that...
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