The Distant Threshold
The rain hit the pavement in a rhythm that felt like static. Margaret stood under the awning of a closed bakery, her coat soaked through to the skin. She watched a single leaf, brown and brittle, swirl across the wet asphalt. It spun. It stopped. It was gone. She had been walking for three hours. Her shoes were ruined. The water had seeped in, cold and biting. She did not care. The cold was a...
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