The Faded Attic
The tower falls. It does not crash. It sighs. A long, grinding exhalation of stone and mortar that shakes the dust from the rafters of your mind. You are standing in the shadow of the spire. It leans. It bows. It kisses the earth with a sound like a dying bell. You do not run. You are a soldier of the air. You have watched it stand for a century. You have watched it rot. You have watched it...
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