The Pale Tower
The dream was always the same, a recurring architecture of white stone and grey sky that Elias Vane had come to know as intimately as his own pulse. He would stand on the edge of a cliff, the wind tearing at the hem of his coat, staring up at a tower that seemed less like a building and more like a bone jutting out of the earth, pale and exposed against the darkening horizon. He woke with the...
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