The Wistful Show
The first thing I noticed was not the sound of the shattering, but the scent of it, a sharp, metallic tang that cut through the humid air of the carriage like a blade through silk. I was seated in the corner of the private compartment, my back pressed against the velvet upholstery, watching the rain streak the glass with the frantic energy of a storm that had been holding its breath for days....
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