The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-20 05:14:49 -

The feast was not for the dead, but for the living who had forgotten how to breathe. You sat at the long oak table in the high hall of the City, the air thick with the smell of roasted pork and the sharp, metallic tang of the rain that lashed against the stained glass windows. Candles flickered in the iron sconces, casting long, wavering shadows that seemed to dance with a life of their own....

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