The Distant Threshold
The light in this valley does not arrive; it is imposed, a harsh white fact that arrives before the sun clears the peaks, and I have learned to read the hours by the angle of the shadows rather than the clock on the wall, which has stopped working since the winter of the seizure. I am Hannelore Werner, the daughter of the toll keeper, and I hold in my palm a silver locket that breathes, a...
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