The Pale Door

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2026-08-18 10:40:16 -

The Pale Door

The bread was stale. Not just dry. Dead. I held it up to the light of the hearth. It was grey. Like the dust in the corners. Like my face in the mirror. I broke a piece off. It crumbled. No crumb. Just powder. I blew it into the fire. It vanished. Thomas watched me from the door. He leaned against the frame. His arms were crossed. He looked tired. Not sleepy. Worn. Like a stone in a river....

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