The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-22 05:33:12 -

The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, gray drumming against the windowpanes of the chapel that sounded less like weather and more like a warning. You sat on the cold stone floor, your back against the altar, watching the condensation drip down the glass in slow, erratic lines. Your left hand lay open in your lap, the palm up, the skin pale and thin as parchment. It was a hand...

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