The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-18 08:30:19 -

The oak branch, stripped of its leaves and bark by a century of handling, sat heavy on the desk, its wood darkened to the color of dried blood, a thing I had carried through three wars and two continents until the weight of it had settled into the marrow of my bones, becoming less an object I held and more a limb that had grown out of me, a second spine made of heartwood and silence, and in the...

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