The Pale Tower
The ledger was heavy, not with the density of its paper, but with the wet, rotting weight of the cellar floor where you had found it, its spine cracked and the leather cover slick with a mold that felt like skin under your thumb. You held it in your hands, the water stains blooming like dark bruises across the first page, and the air in the basement of your father’s estate smelled of coal dust...
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