The Faded Dust
The moth hit the glass. It did not land. It thrashed. A blur of gray wings against the windowpane. Elias watched it from the dark. The light from the streetlamp outside was a hard white square on the floor. The moth kept going. It was a death spiral. He knew the mechanics of it. The wings were too large for the cage of the room. The light was a trap. It was beautiful and it was stupid. He...
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