The Distant Threshold
The hand moved with a precision that belied the tremor running through its bones, fingers pinching a single thread of scarlet wool between thumb and forefinger as if it were a vein of gold. Elias Thorne held the cloth up to the guttering candlelight, the flame casting long, distorted shadows that danced against the damp stone of the cellar wall, and he watched the thread fray, not from age, but...
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