The Pale Door
The house was a structure of white stucco and sharp angles, a modernist box perched on the edge of the coastal cliff. Inside, the air was cold and recycled, filtered through high-efficiency ducts that hummed with a low, constant vibration. You sat on the floor of the living room, your back against the baseboard, knees drawn to your chest. Your hands were shaking, not from the cold, but from the...
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