The Faded River
The first crack appeared on the ceiling of the Grand Hall not as a fracture, but as a smile, a thin, white line that stretched across the plaster like a vein of quartz exposed in a riverbed. I was standing there, my hands trembling in my pockets, watching the dust settle, while the air around us hummed with a frequency that felt less like sound and more like a pressure against the eardrums, a...
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