The Pale Door
"Is it the dust, or the decay?" Elias Thorne did not answer immediately. He stood by the window of the archive room, watching the grey light of the medieval district settle over the slate roofs, and felt the familiar, cold weight in his chest. The coughing fit that had interrupted his sleep came on again, a dry, rattling thing that seemed to scrape against the inside of his ribs. He pressed a...
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