The Distant Threshold
Vael moved like a lung filled with soot, the pistons of the sugar mills driving the air into a grey, viscous fog that settled on the loess cliffs carved with the dwellings of the strike year. In the shadow of the last gas station on the road out of town, where the alpine light cut thin and hard against the industrial skyline, Liliane Zeringue watched the molten silica in her crucible warp into...
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