The Distant Threshold
The iron gate of the Abbey of St. Jude did not open so much as it exhaled, a long, rusted groan that vibrated through the soles of my boots and settled in the hollows of my ribs, a sound that was less mechanical and more like the sigh of a dying beast, and I stood on the threshold of the courtyard, the stone cold and slick beneath my feet, feeling the weight of the silence that pressed against...
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