The Chronos Gap
The library of the Old Manor in Derbyshire was a place where time seemed to hold its breath. It was a cavern of leather-bound secrets and dust-motes dancing in shafts of amber light. I was a researcher of forgotten texts, a man who lived in the past because the present felt too thin. It was here, behind a row of decaying theological treatises, that I found the Rift. The Rift was not a hole in...
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