Once upon a time, in a universe where reality was more about crossing lines than drawing them, we had land borders, maritime borders, air borders, and the often overlooked international borders where you might need a passport just to say hello. Don't forget trade borders, where tariffs can turn a simple handshake into a complex negotiation. But there was a chilling tale whispered along these borders, of a collector of passports, not for travel, but to trap souls within his own twisted realm, where each visa was a lease on life he could revoke at will.
Then there are cultural borders, where one might need a translation app just to understand the punchline of a local joke. Social boundaries, well, those are like the invisible fences at a dog park, keeping the chaos at bay. And let's not forget personal space, the sacred one-foot radius around every individual where "no trespassing" isn't just suggested, it's enforced. Yet, there's a story of a man who would invade this space, not with physical presence, but through a gaze so intense it felt like he was peeling away layers of your soul, leaving you feeling violated, his eyes the only borders you couldn't escape.
