The Pale Door

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2026-08-20 21:44:54 -

The Pale Door

The cup was cold. I held it in both hands, feeling the ceramic bite into my palms, a small, hard truth against the soft ache of my skin. It was a thing of pale blue glaze, chipped at the rim where a tooth had once caught, now a jagged white scar. I was alone in the hall, a vast space that smelled of wet stone and old wax. The light came from nowhere, or everywhere, a grey wash that turned the...

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