The Distant Joke
The frost crept over the windowpane. It looked like ice. It felt like bone. Elias sat at his desk. The light was low. The air was cold. He held the stone. It was smooth. It was warm. It was not warm. It was cold. He turned it over. The surface was dark. It reflected his face. The face was old. The eyes were tired. "Is it done?" The voice came from the doorway. It was soft. It was thin. Elias...
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