The Pale Tower
The first sack of dried wisteria petals weighed four pounds, the second five, and by the time the third was filled, the scale had begun to groan under a weight that felt less like matter and more like a sustained, low-frequency hum in the bones. You stood in the archive of the Pale Tower estate, a place where the air smelled of damp rot and old paper, and you counted the hours not by the clock,...
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