The Wistful Crossroads
The first crack in the world did not announce itself with thunder, but with the sudden, violent fragmentation of the glass in Maren’s study window. It was a Tuesday, grey and heavy with the industrial smog that perpetually hung over the valley like a damp woolen shroud, and the sound of the shattering was a high-pitched shriek that cut through the low, rhythmic thrum of the coal furnaces below....
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