The Pale Door
Act I "You will sign the waiver, Lucia, or the pension committee will strip your rank by morning." The words from Councilman Ferrer hung in the air, heavy as the wet wool coats draped over the banquet chairs. I sat at the head of the table, my hands resting on the white linen, trying to keep them still. Twenty years I have held the Pale Door, a threshold of supernatural rot that eats the flesh...
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