The Distant Threshold
The frost on the windowpane had formed into a delicate, fractal pattern that looked suspiciously like the veins of a leaf, or perhaps the branching capillaries of a human hand, and I found myself tracing them with a fingertip that had lost all sensation to the cold, a cold that seemed to radiate from the very stones of the tower where we were kept. We were not prisoners in the traditional...
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