The Pale Shadows
The glass shattered. It happened in the kitchen. A Tuesday. Rain lashed the window. Elias held the bottle. It was a vintage. 1982. Heavy. Thick. He squeezed. It broke. Not a crack. A burst. Red liquid sprayed. It hit the white tiles. It hit his hand. It hit the floor. Elias stared. The liquid pooled. It looked like blood. It smelled like iron. It smelled like memory. He was a professor....
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