The Pale Door

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2026-08-21 20:36:18 -

The Pale Door

The mortar in my hands was not merely a mixture of chalk and bone ash, but a living thing, pulsing with a cold, wet rhythm that matched the erratic beating of my own heart. I stood before the threshold of the old stone chapel, the air thick with the scent of wet earth and the metallic tang of impending doom, and I knew, with a certainty that felt like a blade sliding between my ribs, that I was...

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