The Pale Tower
The dream began with the smell of damp limestone and the sound of a pen scratching against parchment, a rhythm so steady it felt like the beating of a second heart. Elias Thorne woke with the taste of chalk dust in his mouth, his hands trembling as he reached for the cold glass of water on his nightstand, his fingers already stiff with a chill that the fire in the hearth had not yet dispelled....
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