The Pale Door
The door is pale. You dream of it. It stands in a void. No frame. No wall. Just wood. And light. You wake. Gasping. The room is cold. Steam rises from the radiator. A thin, white snake. You look at your hands. They shake. They are not your hands. They are older. They are thin. They are the hands of a ghost. You are the Keeper. The Court is waking. The chimes strike six. Brass. Bronze. Iron....
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