The Distant Threshold
The fog did not roll in; it stood up, a pale and sickly wall that swallowed the village of Oakhaven whole. You remember the taste of it, metallic and cold, coating the back of your throat like a lie. It was the winter of the Great Silence, a time when the Church of the Veil had declared that the old woods had become unclean, a festering wound in the earth that needed to be excised. They spoke...
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