The Distant Blade
The glass was not broken, it was shattered, a distinction that matters only to those who have never held a shard against their tongue and tasted the metallic, cold truth of their own fragility, as I held it now, the jagged edge pressing into the meat of my thumb, a red bead of blood welling up to meet the cold air of the cellar where the light did not reach, where the dampness ate at the stone...
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