The Faded Root
The kettle screamed at me, a thin, high-pitched whine that cut through the silence of the apartment like a wire snapping in the dark. I did not move to turn it off. I sat at the kitchen table, my hands wrapped around a mug that had gone cold an hour ago, watching the water ripple in a frantic, circular panic. Outside, the rain lashed against the glass of Chicago, a gray curtain that blurred the...
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