The Pale Tower
The letter lay on the stone floor, its ink still wet, smelling of iron and dried blood, and I read it three times before the chains on my wrists began to hum with a cold, rhythmic pulse that matched the beating of my own terrified heart. It was a simple note, written in Elara’s steady, slanted hand, the same hand that had once held a quill over our marriage ledger and now held the power to...
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