The Pale Door
The rain does not fall. It presses. You are standing in the street. The city is a grey smear. The lights are wet. You hold the locket. It is cold. It is heavy. It is yours. You look up. The building is tall. It is old. The windows are dark. One window is lit. It is the third floor. You know this. You have watched it for three days. You do not blink. The rain soaks your coat. You do not move....
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