The Pale Door
The road did not end. It simply stopped being a road and became a gray smear of mud and rotting pine needles that stretched out into the mist like a broken bone. I walked it because the orders were clear, though the voice that had given them had long since faded into the ether of bureaucracy. We were soldiers of the state, or so the ledger claimed, but out here in the deep, uncharted west, we...
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