The Distant Threshold
The bell of St. Jude’s did not ring; it screamed. It was a sound that tore through the fabric of the Tuesday morning, a jagged shriek of iron against iron that shattered the quiet industry of Millhaven. The town, nestled in the valley where the river bent like a broken bone, woke to a sky the color of bruised slate. The smoke from the textile mills hung low, a heavy grey shroud that tasted of...
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