The Distant Threshold
"Drink up, Elias. It’s a good vintage, and you look like a man who’s been chewing on a stone." Clara raised her glass, her eyes bright with a forced cheerfulness that Elias knew well. She had spent twenty years perfecting that look, the one that said *I am fine, I am whole, please do not see the cracks*. He took a sip. The wine was heavy, cloying, and it sat in his stomach like a lead weight....
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