The Distant Joke
The rain on the glass of the windowpane was not water, but the condensation of a grief so heavy it had become liquid. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the threshold, his coat damp and heavy with the dampness of the world he was leaving behind, watching the streetlights bleed into the wet asphalt. It was a departure that did not feel like a departure, but rather a severing, a clean and terrible...
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