The Pale Door
"Is the seal broken?" I looked up from the clay. My hands were red. The river mud had worked into the creases of my palms. It was thick there. It was in the bone. "Yes," I said. "It is broken." Thomas stood in the doorway. He did not come in. The wind pushed his cloak against his legs. He was tall. He was young. He looked at me as if I were a stranger. Or a ghost. "You kept it," he said. "I...
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