The Pale Door
The obsidian amulet hung heavy against Elias’s chest, a shard of volcanic glass no larger than a man’s thumbnail, cold enough to bite through the wool of his tunic. He held it there in the dark of his cell, his fingers trembling not from the chill of the stone but from the vibration that thrummed within it, a low, ceaseless shriek that only he could hear. The year was 1342, and the light from...
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