The Pale Door

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2026-08-24 07:24:14 -

The Pale Door

The letter in my hand was damp with the mist that clings to the moors in late autumn, its ink smudged where my thumb had pressed against the parchment in a desperate, trembling attempt to hold it together, and I stood before the pale oak door of the Abbey of St. Jude, the wood so light in color it seemed less like timber and more like bone, a stark, blinding thing against the grey curtain of...

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