The Pale Tower
The ink is wet on the parchment, and your left hand is screaming, a high, thin frequency that you feel in your teeth rather than hear with your ears. You are Elias, thirty-two years old, a Senior Archivist in the High Court of Inquisitors, and the winter audit is three days away, a deadline that hangs over the scriptorium like a guillotine blade, sharp and inevitable. You want tenure, you want...
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