The Pale Door
The iron bars of the ventilation shaft groaned against my forearms, a metallic shriek that cut through the heavy, stagnant air of the sub-basement. I was not merely climbing; I was being pulled upward by a force that defied the geometry of the room, a gravitational anomaly that had swallowed the entire lower level of the Whitmore Textile Mill three days prior. My fingers, caked in rust and...
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