The Distant Nightmare
The ice did not shatter in the way Margaret expected, with the sharp, violent crack of a windowpane or the thunderous snap of a frozen branch, but rather it dissolved, a slow and agonizing disintegration into a slurry of gray sludge that clung to her boots as she stood on the edge of the precipice, the wind here not blowing but pulling, a constant, suffocating suction that dragged at her hair...
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