The Distant Threshold
The fog did not roll in so much as it settled, a heavy, grey wool draped over the shoulders of the valley until the world beyond the windowpane became a rumor of light and shadow. I sat in my study, the room smelling of damp paper and the sharp, metallic tang of the ink I had been grinding all afternoon. Outside, the ironworks of Blackwood Hollow churned, the rhythmic pounding of the hammers a...
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