The Wistful Show
The tower stood. It did not sway. It did not crack. It stood in the center of the yard like a broken tooth. I sat in the shadows. My hands were clean. My mind was loud. I was a scholar of the old ways. I knew the stones. I knew the mortar. I knew the weight of the sky. I had written books. They were dry. They were correct. They said nothing about fear. Now the fear was real. The drums came from...
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