The Distant Threshold
You are standing in the kitchen, which is a room that has forgotten how to be a kitchen, because the walls are no longer plaster or paint but have become the translucent, veined skin of a giant moth, pulsing with a slow, rhythmic bioluminescence that casts the shadows of the cutlery into long, trembling fingers stretching across the linoleum floor, and you are holding a ceramic bowl that feels...
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