The Pale Tower

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2026-08-22 21:49:04 -

The Pale Tower

The chisel lay in Arthur’s palm, its head worn flat by twenty years of use, the steel cold enough to sting the calluses of his grip. He stood in the center of the dining room, the air thick with the scent of damp wool and the stale, metallic taste of the crypt he had just descended, while Elise sat at the far end of the table, her hands folded over a ledger that looked as thin as the excuses...

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