The Pale Fracture
The dream was always the same. A room with no door. The walls were made of bone, thin and translucent. I could see the stars moving outside, but I could not get out. My hands were fused to the table. The wood was warm. It smelled of old paper and dried blood. I woke up with my fingers cramping. Margaret was already in the kitchen. The light was gray. It came from the window above the sink. She...
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