The Pale Door
The rain had been falling for three days, a cold, relentless sheet of gray water that turned the cobblestones of the Old Quarter into slick, treacherous mirrors, and when I walked away from the threshold of my mother’s house, I did not look back, because I knew that if I had, the weight of her gaze, that heavy, unblinking devotion that had suffocated me since birth, would have crushed the very...
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