The Pale Letter
The glass is in your hand. It is cold. It is heavy. It is you. You are sitting at the table. The table is wood. The wood is dead. The room is white. The white is bright. The light hurts. Your eyes are wet. You blink. The blur clears. The glass is still there. It is a vessel. It is a sphere. It is a prison. It holds nothing. It holds everything. The surface is smooth. The surface is cracked. A...
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