The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-20 00:39:09 -

The air in the grand ballroom of the St. Jude’s Institute for Behavioral Correction smelled of stale lavender and the metallic tang of fear. It was a suffocating perfume, thick enough to taste, clinging to the velvet drapes and the polished mahogany tables where the faculty sat in their rigid, black-tie formations. Marguerite Vane stood near the service entrance, her hands trembling not from...

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