The Pale Door

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2026-08-20 18:50:36 -

The Pale Door

The train hissed. Steam curled like a ghost. I looked down. My hands shook. They were small. Pale. They belonged to someone else. Or perhaps to a machine. I stood in the hall. The wood floor creaked. It was an old house. No, a depot. The air smelled of coal and oil. And something sweet. Rotting fruit? No. Just age. My father stood by the door. He did not look at me. He looked at the clock. The...

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