The Pale Tower

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2026-08-25 03:34:15 -

The Pale Tower

The wool market at the Burren’s edge was a place of coarse hands and finer lies, where the price of a fleece hinged on the lie of the light, and I stood in the sealed stone chamber of the Tower with my left wrist open to the air, the blood already turning to a pale, hard resin that smelled of wet chalk and old coins. I was Maeve Brannigan, a grader of wool and a keeper of the granary’s silence,...

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