The Pale Door
The fire did not consume the house; it merely revealed it. You remember the night the timber groaned, a low, tectonic shudder that woke you not with fear, but with a terrible, clarifying light. The flames were not orange, as one might expect from a hearth, but a pale, ghostly blue, licking up the beams with the slow, deliberate patience of a lover who has waited too long. You stood in the...
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