The Wistful Witness
The city burned. Not with fire, but with a sudden, violent inversion of light and shadow that stripped the stone streets bare and exposed the architecture of the air itself. You stood in the square, the cobblestones slick with a mist that smelled of ozone and old copper. Around you, the crowd did not scream. They froze. They watched the sky split open, a jagged wound of violet nothingness...
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