The Golden Song
The glass shatters. Not with a bang. With a sigh. A long, crystalline exhale that fills the room. You stand in the center of the living room. The floor is a mosaic of diamonds. Your brother stands by the door. He is holding the hammer. You look at him. He looks at you. You are twelve. You are seven. The age gap is a chasm. It is also a bridge. The window is the object. It is the only thing in...
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