The Wistful Voyage
The steam from the kettle curled into the stagnant air of the faculty lounge, a pale ghost rising from the ceramic vessel that had held my tea for the last three years, and as I watched it dissipate against the cold windowpane, I felt the first hairline fracture appear in the porcelain, a jagged white line that seemed to pulse with a rhythm entirely its own, distinct from my own heartbeat, and...
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