The Golden Visit
The glass shatters before you hear the sound. This is the first rule of the house, the one written not in the lease but in the marrow of the walls. You stand in the hallway, your hands still raised as if you have just thrown the object, though your palms are empty and cold. The shards lie on the Persian rug in a constellation of green and grey, a map of ruin that you have drawn with your own...
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