The Pale Fracture
The ink on the municipal seal had dried into a black, brittle scab over the years, and when I pressed the stamp down onto the white paper, the sound it made was not a thud but a dry, hollow crack, like a bone breaking under the heel of a boot. I looked up at the woman standing on the other side of the glass partition, her face a pale, translucent mask behind the mesh, and I realized that I had...
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