The Pale Door
The glass vial sat in your palm, heavy and cold, its weight a tangible anchor against the trembling of your fingers. It was a small, unmarked cylinder of dark amber, no larger than your thumb, yet it held the entire gravity of your remaining days. You were Elias, forty-two years old, the Senior Archivist of the Court of King Aldric, a man who had spent two decades organizing the kingdom’s...
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