The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-20 07:09:28 -

The door was not a barrier. It was a wound. I stood before it, the iron cold against my palm. It was a slab of black metal, pitted and rusted, set into the side of a cliff face that wept with moss. The wind here did not blow. It screamed. It tore at the hem of my coat, a tattered thing that had once been grey but was now the color of old blood. I held the key in my other hand. It was small....

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