The Wistful Asylum
The porcelain bowl did not shatter when it fell. It did not shatter when it struck the cold, polished floor of the Grand Hall, nor when the sound of its breaking seemed to hang in the air like a suspended breath. It shattered only when Elias Thorne looked away, a fraction of a second later, and in that moment of averted gaze, the object ceased to be a vessel and became a ruin. This was the...
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