The Distant Threshold
You are standing in the middle of a field that does not appear on any map, the grass beneath your boots feeling less like vegetation and more like the soft, damp wool of a sleeping beast, and you are looking up at a sky that is the color of a bruise healing, a deep, mottled purple that suggests time has been left to rot in the air, and you realize with a cold, sharp clarity that you have been...
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