The Distant Threshold
Act I Entry of the 14th of November, in the damp of the manor. The ledger page is stained with wine, or perhaps rust, the ink running in a single, jagged line that reads: Threshold breached, cost: one soul. I have spent the morning with my hands trembling, not from the cold that seeps through the floorboards here in the Cypriot interior, but from the terrible clarity of what the books have told...
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