The Pale Fracture
The air in the room tastes of copper and old dust. It is a heavy taste, one that coats the back of your throat. You sit at the desk. The wood is cold beneath your palms. Outside, the city is silent. It has been silent for three days. The silence is not empty. It is full. It presses against the windows like a living thing. You look at the object in front of you. It is a small, pale fracture in...
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