The Pale Protocol
The glass was thin. That was the first thing Arthur noticed. Not the color, which was a murky, industrial green, but the fragility of the rim. He held it up to the grey light of the workshop. The light did not pass through cleanly. It fractured. It scattered into a dozen small, jagged ghosts. This was the work. This was the life. He was a glazier. A mender of broken things. His name was Arthur...
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