The Distant Legend
You dream of the glass. It is not a window, nor a pane in a shop display. It is a shard of something larger, held up to the sky. In the dream, your hand is not yours. It is pale, elongated, the fingers trembling with a cold that does not come from the air but from the bone. You hold the glass. The light refracts through it, splitting into colors that have no names. You see your reflection, but...
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