The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-20 21:29:31 -

The hall smells of wet wool and stale tobacco. It is a heavy, cloying scent. You are standing in the center. The floorboards groan beneath your boots. They are old. They are tired. Like you. Around you, the air is thick with the murmur of voices. They speak in low, urgent tones. They circle you like moths around a dying lamp. You do not move. You hold the door. It is a solid oak slab. It is...

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