salt_tooth
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And even so, the Border hadn’t moved or apparently changed in 30 years. Still largely impassable, still essentially invisible until you were right up against it—could note its odd, diaphanous sheen that seemed to drip down through an unseen slit in the earth. Descending from nowhere, its origin too far and obscure to divine. They told him that within reaching distance it seemed to hum.
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Hickey was smoking again.
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The spring that Fra. Giovanni died, leaving the convent of Suore di Buio e Terrore Perpetuo without a priest to shrive them, rumors of a particularly harsh plague season from Venezia are keeping Badessa Francesca awake.