The Pale Tower
The candle flame in the Archive of St. Jude did not flicker, for there was no wind to disturb it, yet the shadows cast by the towering shelves seemed to detach themselves from the stone walls and lean closer to Elias Thorne, their edges blurring into a viscous, whispering chorus that spoke his name in a language older than the Latin inscribed on the vellum. Elias, forty years old and bent by...
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