The Distant Summer
The fever broke not with a chill, but with a sound like a plate shattering against the kitchen tile. You remember the noise before you remember the pain. It was a sharp, brittle crash that cut through the humid silence of the hospital room, a sound that belonged to the world of the living, of the mundane and the breakable. You were lying in the center of the room, not on a bed, but on the cold...
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