The Distant Threshold
You stand before the gate. It is iron. It is rust. It is tall. You cannot see over it. You can only see up. The sky above is grey. It is thick. It is heavy. It does not move. It waits. You are not alone. There is another here. She is small. She is young. She holds a basket. The basket is empty. She looks at you. Her eyes are dark. Her eyes are wet. She does not speak. She only looks. You know...
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