The Distant Promise
The fog presses against the glass. You are here. The room smells of iron and wet wool. "Can you hear it?" The voice is thin. It is Thomas. He stands in the corner. His eyes are wide. They do not blink. You look at him. You know him. You have known him for thirty years. Or maybe three days. Time is a loose thread here. It pulls when you tug it. It snaps when you pull. You are in the House. The...
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