The Pale Door
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, gray drizzle that turned the streets of the old district into a slurry of mud and broken glass. You stood in the doorway of the community hall, your coat heavy with water, clutching a leather-bound ledger so tightly your knuckles had gone white. This was the house your mother had promised you, the one with the blue shutters and the garden...
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