The Pale Door
You stand at the edge of the grey nothing, the ground beneath your boots dissolving into a mist that tastes of copper and old dust, and you are alone in a world that has no sun, only a diffuse, sickly light that seems to emanate from the air itself. You are young, perhaps twelve, perhaps thirteen, though age feels like a loose garment here, slipping off your shoulders every time you try to hold...
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