The Pale Fracture
You stand before the mirror. The glass is cold. It reflects a face you do not recognize. The jaw is tight. The eyes are hollow. You are a scholar of linguistics. You are also a beggar. The distinction is academic. It is also irrelevant. Your hands shake. You place them on the sink. The porcelain is chipped. A crack runs through it like a river on a map. You trace it with a finger. The water is...
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