The Pale Tower
The wind did not howl in the unfinished tower; it simply filled the hollow spaces with a low, continuous thrum that seemed to vibrate in the teeth of Elias Thorne, a sound that was less an intrusion and more a resident, settling into the gaps between the exposed lath and the bare timber framing of what was meant to be his sanctuary. It was the winter of 1912, and the air in the industrial town...
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