The Distant Threshold
The rain did not fall so much as it insisted, a grey, persistent curtain that blurred the boundary between the manor’s stone walls and the weeping moor beyond. I sat in the library, the only room in the house that still felt warm, though the fire had long since died to a bed of ash. My hands, trembling with a chill that seemed to originate in the marrow, rested upon the leather-bound ledger. It...
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