The Pale Door
The frost had not come to the valley this year, but the silence had, settling over the manor house of Alderwick like a burial shroud woven from gray mist and the weight of unspoken sins. You stand in the center of the great hall, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and the faint, cloying sweetness of wilting lilies, and you feel the cold creeping into your marrow, a sensation that has...
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