The Pale Fracture
The sky over Millhaven did not break; it peeled. One moment, the gray morning light was a solid sheet of iron, pressing down on the slate roofs and the rusted chimneys of the textile district. The next, it split open like a bruised plum, revealing a void of absolute, terrifying white that hummed against the back of my skull. I was in the kitchen, scrubbing the scorch marks from the cast-iron...
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