The Pale Tower
The ink did not dry so much as it settled, a heavy, viscous dark that seemed to pull the light down into the paper, a slow and suffocating burial of the white page beneath the weight of my own certainty. I sat in the high-backed chair in the study, the leather creaking softly under the shift of my weight, a sound that felt obscenely loud in the silence of the room, which was thick with the...
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