The Pale Door
Act I "You’re bleeding through the paper again, Aurelio." The voice came from the doorway of the small office, dry and sharp as the wind off the pampas. Aurelio Villaseñor looked up from his drafting table, his fingers stained with the rust-colored ink of the hidden diagrams he had been redrawing for the third time that morning. He was thirty-two years old, a structural engineer by trade,...
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