The Distant Threshold
The brass plaque on the door of St. Jude’s Orphanage had lost its shine years ago, worn smooth by the thumbs of a thousand anxious parents and the calloused palms of the staff. It read simply: ST. JUDE’S. But to you, it was a lock. And in your pocket, tucked inside the lining of your wool coat, you carried the key. Not a metal key, of course. Metal keys did not fit the locks of the soul. It was...
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