The Pale Door
The rain did not fall so much as it accumulated in the air, a heavy, grey suspension that turned the city into a watercolor of smudged charcoal and wet slate, and it was within this suffocating damp that Elias Thorne found the door, a pale slab of wood that seemed to breathe with a rhythm entirely alien to the frantic, gasping pace of the streets below. He stood before it, his coat heavy with...
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