The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-20 05:46:02 -

The dream began in the cellar, where the air tasted of wet stone and old iron. Margaret stood before a door of black oak, its surface worn smooth by centuries of anxious hands. She was not alone. Beside her, though he was a spirit only, a shadow of a man, stood Thomas. His face was blurred, as if he had never truly been solid, but the shape of him was familiar, the way the memory of a beloved...

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