The Threshold Key

A draft of cool air drew me out of the parlor and along the polished expanse of the hallway floorboards. At the threshold of the front entrance, an ornate brass key lay forgotten across the weave of the dark runner. I halted before it, measuring its notched teeth and heavy barrel with a deliberate tilt of my head. Rather than passing by, I maneuvered the ferrule of my staff to tilt the metal piece upright against the carved baseboard, marking the formal boundary to the street beyond. Outside, the distant city stirred, awaiting its cue.