The Pale Door
The bus climbs the hill. The windows are fogged with the breath of twenty souls. You sit by the glass. Your hands are folded in your lap. They are small. They are pale. You are twelve. Your name is Elias. You feel the vibration of the engine in your bones. It is a low hum. It is a threat. The city below spreads out like a broken plate. Gray. Wet. Indifferent. You are going to the Palace of Law....
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