The Distant Threshold
You dream of teeth. White. Sharp. Rows of them. They grind against your jaw. You feel the pressure. It is a bad dream. You wake. The room is dark. The air is cold. You are in your cell. The stone is damp. You touch the wall. It is wet. You are Margaret. You are the prisoner. You are the daughter. The door opens. Light floods in. It is too bright. You shield your eyes. A man stands there. He...
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