The Pale Door

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2026-08-22 09:31:59 -

The Pale Door

The tin cup was thin. It had been thin for years. I held it in my left hand. The metal was cold. It burned my palm. A different kind of burn. The coffee inside was black. It was weak. It tasted of dust. I drank. I drank it all. The house was quiet. The floorboards creaked under my feet. I moved to the window. The glass was cracked. A web of white lines across the pane. Outside, the snow fell....

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