The Pale Door
The building did not fall, but it shuddered, a deep, tectonic groan that rose from the foundations and rattled the chandeliers in their brass cages, scattering a rain of dust and shattered plaster across the lecture halls where we sat, frozen in the amber of our own complacency. I remember the smell of it, a metallic tang of ozone and old paper, the scent of a library burning in slow motion, a...
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