The Distant Threshold
The silk scarf, once a vibrant shade of garnet that had wrapped around Margaret’s neck like a lover’s whisper, now lay in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the linen hamper, its fibers matted with the dust of a decade and the sweat of a thousand silent days. It was a piece of fabric that had served as the primary conduit for her identity, a barrier between her own trembling skin and the cold,...
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