The Distant Threshold
The glass shattered. Not with a dramatic explosion, but with a sigh, a long, thin crack running from the rim to the center of the pane, like a vein bursting under the skin. I watched the fragments settle on the kitchen floor, glittering in the dim, amber light of the house. It was a Tuesday. The air smelled of wet wool and the faint, metallic tang of old blood, though I knew no one had been...
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