The Pale Tower
Chapter One Could a bone be a door? Teresa Iturbe asked the question of the salt-crusted air, her fingers tracing the jagged fracture in the Pale Tower’s central pillar, feeling the phantom ache in her own left radius mirror the stone’s ruin. The mist of the Basque coast rolled in thick as wool, trapping the smoke of the granary fires and blinding the horizon, a physical weight that pressed...
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