The Distant Threshold
The ink on the decree was still wet when I woke, the smell of iron and vinegar hanging heavy in the air of the estate’s west wing. I lay still, staring at the ceiling where the plaster had cracked in the shape of a branching vein, and felt the weight of the seal pressing against my chest like a stone. It was not a dream, or rather, it was a dream that had calcified into reality, a nightmare...
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