The Pale Door

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2026-08-17 17:29:34 -

The Pale Door

I dreamed of a hand. Not my hand. Someone else’s. Pale. Veined. Stretched across a table made of black glass. It moved slowly. Deliberately. Like a spider testing the silk. I woke with my own fingers numb. Stiff. Like old wood. The city was loud. It always was. The steam from the manholes hissed like angry snakes. Trams rattled. Iron on iron. People hurried. Coats collared. Faces hard. I walked...

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