The Pale Garden
The bone snapped. It happened in the quiet of the lab. The hum of the ventilation system dropped to a low thrum. I held the femur. It was dry. It was old. It was mine. The crack was small. A hairline fracture. I watched it spread. A web of white lines bloomed across the surface. Like frost on glass. Like a map of veins. My hand trembled. I put the bone in the box. The lid closed with a soft...
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