The Wistful Voyage
The glass shattered not with a sound, but with a sudden, violent absence of it, a silence that sucked the air from the lungs of the grand assembly hall. It was a small thing, a crystal tumbler held in the hand of the Prime Minister, yet its breaking felt like the cracking of a tectonic plate, a fracture running through the very bedrock of our established order. I stood at the far end of the...
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