The Distant Threshold
The train smelled of coal smoke and wet wool, a scent that had long since become part of your own skin. You sat by the window, watching the industrial sprawl of Oakhaven bleed into the grey morning mist, the steam from the engine blurring the world into a soft, indistinct smear. You were not a man, not in the way the people of Oakhaven understood the word. You were something else, a thing of...
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