The Pale Door

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 14:53:54 -

The Pale Door

The chalice was warm in my hand, the gold leaf peeling slightly under my thumb where the lacquer had worn thin from years of handling. I held it up to the candlelight, watching the reflection of my own face distort in the curved surface, a warped, pale thing that did not look like me. I was Elias Thorne, Royal Sentinel, thirty-two years old, and I had come to this banquet for one reason: the...

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