The Pale Door

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2026-08-20 00:25:18 -

The Pale Door

I woke in the loom. The thread was my blood. It pulled. It snapped. I lay on the cold stone floor of the Guildhall. The air smelled of wool and rot. My father’s face was in the weave. He was smiling. He was never smiling. I sat up. My hands were stained indigo. The dye had eaten into the skin. I touched my lips. Dry. I needed water. I needed air. The Guildmaster stood before me. He wore a coat...

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