The Distant Threshold
I ran. My boots slammed against the wet stone. The air tasted of iron and rot. I was a soldier. I was a ghost. The walls pressed in. The corridor twisted. It was a loop. I knew it was a loop. I had seen this door before. The brass handle was green with age. I gripped it. I pulled. It did not move. I pushed. It did not move. I was trapped. I was always trapped. My name was Thomas. I had...
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