The Pale Tower
Act I The ink in the ledger did not stay black. It shifted, a slow, viscous bleed that turned from carbon to a rust-red hue, the color of old blood or dried rust, depending on the angle of the light. I watched it happen from my desk in the archive, the recycled stock of the page warm under my fingers, the smell of ozone and wet wool hanging thick in the air of the Pale Tower. We are all...
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