The Distant Threshold
The rain had not stopped for three days in Oakhaven, a small, gray-hatted town clinging to the cliffs above the churning Atlantic, and it had seeped into the bones of Elias Thorne until he felt less like a man and more like a damp, decaying piece of driftwood. He was a man who had spent forty years listening, a local historian and archivist whose job was to preserve the past in dust and...
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