The Pale Garden
The ceramic vessel did not shatter when you dropped it on the kitchen tile, but it cracked, a hairline fracture running from the rim to the base like a vein of dark ice in clear water, and you stood there in the sterile, humming silence of the house that no longer felt like home, watching the dust motes dance in the single beam of afternoon sun that cut through the blinds, feeling the cold seep...
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