The Distant Threshold
You are standing in the middle of the long, sterile corridor of the Department of Nutritional Compliance, and you are screaming, not with your voice but with the raw, white-hot tension in your jaw and the way your hands are shaking so violently that the porcelain bowl in your grip is rattling against the steel table, the sound of it a sharp, percussive counterpoint to the low, humming drone of...
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