The Pale Door
The road was wet. It glistened in the dark. Edward rode alone. His horse was old. Its breath fogged the air. The cold bit his skin. He wore a cloak of gray wool. It was heavy. It weighed him down. He had walked for days. His legs hurt. He did not stop. The village was ahead. A smoke rose from the chimney. It curled into the sky. The sky was black. There were no stars. Just rain. It fell in...
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