The Pale Path
The door locks. The latch bites. You are outside. The air is thin. Cold. It cuts. You shiver. Not from the chill. From the shock. The house stands behind you. It is white. It is tall. It watches. You do not look back. You walk. The path is pale. It is made of chalk. Or bone. You do not know. You do not care. You are going. You are leaving. You carry a bag. It is heavy. It contains your tools....
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