The Wistful Atlas
The glass shattered against the kitchen tile. It did not explode with violence. It simply failed. The shards skittered across the floor like dead silver fish, catching the weak morning light that bled through the blinds. Elias stood still. His hands hung at his sides, trembling with a fine, high-pitched vibration. He had not thrown the object with force. He had only released his grip. The...
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