The Wistful Letter
The glass shatters not with a sound but with a sudden, violent absence of light, as if the universe has been punctured by a needle and the air rushes in to fill the void, leaving behind a cold, metallic taste that coats the tongue and settles in the gut like a stone dropped into deep water. I stand in the center of the rotunda, the dust of the broken skylight swirling around me in slow,...
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