The Distant Promise

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2026-08-17 21:35:35 -

The glass is cracked. I see it now. A fracture line runs from the hinge to the clasp. It catches the gaslight. It sings. I am in the antechamber of the Ministry. The air is thick with coal dust and ozone. My hands tremble. I hold the mirror. It is my skin. It is my face. "Mr. Silas," says the clerk. His voice is dry. Like leaves underfoot. "Your turn." I do not look at him. I look at the crack....

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