The Pale Banner
The porcelain shard caught the light of the flickering streetlamp like a sliver of trapped moon, a jagged white tooth pulled from the mouth of the city, and Elias Thorne held it in his palm so tightly that the sharp edge bit into the flesh of his thumb, a sharp, bright pain that served as an anchor in the swirling, dissolving fog of his own delusion, for he had always believed, with the fervent...
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