The Pale Door
The iron key was cold, heavier than it looked, and it fit the lock in the basement of Elias Thorne’s crumbling apartment with a click that sounded like a bone breaking. Elias stood before the Pale Door, a slab of unpolished wood that seemed to absorb the dim light of the hallway, and his hand trembled not from fear, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the choice he had made. He was...
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