The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-19 05:50:55 -

The frost came in on a Tuesday. It did not creep; it struck. The air in Oakhaven turned brittle, a thin skin over the water that cracked under the weight of silence. I stood at the window of my study, watching the garden die. The roses, which had bloomed with such aggressive vitality in the summer, were now black skeletons, their thorns exposed like bones. I felt the cold in my marrow. It was a...

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