The Pale Door
The iron door at the end of the corridor did not open with a push, nor with the turn of a key, but with a silence so profound it felt like a physical weight pressing against the eardrums, a silence that swallowed the clatter of the clogs on the stone floor and the distant, rhythmic thumping of the looms in the basement, leaving only the sound of my own blood rushing in my temples, a red, hot...
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