PREVIEW

... the comforting, cozy, cup-of-tea kind of way. No. I mean the kind of "seen" that makes your skin itch. The kind that makes your ancestors shift in their graves and mutter, "Don’t go in there, darling, that place smells like regret."

The Tower of Sin was that kind of building.

It loomed at the end of the road like a broken god’s middle finger, round, jagged, and crumbling, yet somehow still standing through sheer malevolence and structural spite. Stone cracked like sunburnt skin. ...

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