The Pale Fracture
The glass shattered not with a crack, but with a sigh, a long, mournful exhalation of silica and dust that filled the sterile white air of the Refinery. I stood in the center of the room, my hands trembling so violently that the shards of the mirror I had spent forty years polishing seemed to dance in the flickering overhead light. It was not a mirror, I realized, with a clarity that felt like...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare