The Pale Path
The door closes behind you. The lock clicks. It is a small sound, but it echoes in the hollow of your chest. You are not leaving. You are arriving. The house is waiting. It has always been waiting. The walls are white. The air is cold. You smell dust and old paper. You smell fear. You step into the hallway. Your boots are heavy. They are wet. You kick the mud onto the floor. You do not care....
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