The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-19 19:25:41 -

The ink in your well was not black, but the deep, bruised purple of a plum left too long in the sun. You watched it swirl in the stone basin, a vortex that seemed to pull the light from the afternoon into its depths, and you knew, with a cold certainty that settled in your marrow, that the Council had poisoned it again. This was the third time this season. The first, they said, was a mistake of...

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