The Faded Paradox
The rain did not fall. It hovered. It was a suspension of water, a grey mist that clung to the skin like cold sweat. Margaret stood at the edge of the precipice. Below, the valley was a throat of fog. Above, the sky was a bruise. She held the lens. It was cracked. A hairline fracture ran through the glass, splitting the world into two slightly misaligned halves. She had worn it for years. It...
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