The Pale Tower
The soot of Oakhaven did not merely settle; it inhabited, a grey sediment that caked the lungs of the living and the stones of the dead, a pervasive dust that Elias Thorne felt in the marrow of his bones as he knelt beside the iron bed where his brother Julian lay gasping for air that had become too thick to breathe. It was the autumn of 1904, and the air in the apothecary’s back room smelled...
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