The Pale Tower

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2026-08-23 03:21:48 -

The Pale Tower

The ink was cold, and the nib of Elias Thorne’s pen scraped against the vellum with a sound like a fingernail dragging across a chalkboard, a friction that seemed to vibrate through the bone of his left hand, which was no longer entirely bone but a pale, rigid extension of the tower’s spire. He held the quill with his right hand, the only one that retained the flexibility of flesh, while his...

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