The Pale Door
The frost that gathered on the windowpanes of the old tenement on Sallow Street did not merely chill the air but seemed to calcify the very concept of time, turning the gray afternoon into a suspended, breathing thing that held its breath with the rest of us, as if the city itself had forgotten how to exhale. Elara sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers laced so tightly around her own knees...
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