The Faded Frontier
The glass is in your hands. It is a heavy thing, a chalice of twisted emerald, and it is cracked. You know it is cracked because you can see the light fracturing through the fractures, scattering into a hundred jagged diamonds on the stone floor of the cellar. You are a glassmaker. Your hands are scarred with white lines where the heat has taken you, where the fire has eaten the flesh. You have...
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