The Faded Shield
The porcelain tumbler sat on the obsidian table before me, its surface cracked in a spiderweb of fractures that I had inflicted with my own trembling hand, the shards still attached by the sheer tension of the glaze, holding together through a defiance that mimicked the fragile cohesion of my own fractured will. I held the broken vessel with a grip that was both tender and violent, my fingers...
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