The Wistful Campus
The glass was cold. Mara held it against her cheek. The pane had cracked. A spiderweb of fissures ran from the center outward. It had happened this morning. She hadn’t touched it. The wind hadn’t broken it. It simply shattered. She stood in the hallway. The house was silent. Dust motes danced in the thin light. Her name was Mara. She worked in accounting. She liked her job. It was safe. It was...
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