The Pale Door
The oak door at the end of the long gallery was pale, bleached by centuries of dust and the faint, ghostly light that seemed to seep from the stones themselves. It was not painted white, but stripped, the grain worn smooth by the hands of countless servants who had entered and exited the service corridors for generations. To Thomas Alder, it was not merely a barrier of wood, but a presence, a...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 3 Views 0 previzualizare