The Distant Threshold
The bell above the door did not ring. It never did in the winter. The wind held it tight against the frame. You stood in the center of the room, the floorboards creaking under the weight of your silence. The air was thick with the smell of damp wool and old paper. Outside, the snow fell in heavy, silent sheets, erasing the world beyond the glass. You were the keeper here. The last of the...
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