The Faded Bouquet
The glass breaks not with a sound, but with a sigh, a long, shattering exhalation of trapped light that spills across the floor of the carriage like spilled milk. You watch it shatter, the shards catching the grey, bruised sky outside the window, and you feel a terrible, hollow relief in your chest, as if a bone you have carried for years has finally cracked and fallen away. This is the third...
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