The Distant Threshold
The feast is over. The plates are empty. The wine is gone. You stand in the center of the hall. It is a hall of white stone. The air is cold. It smells of ozone and old blood. You remember the sound of the shelling. It was a rhythm. A drum. It broke the windows. It broke the silence. It broke you. Now you are here. In the white room. You do not know how you arrived. You do not know how long you...
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