The Pale Fracture
The house breathed. It was a slow, wet inhalation. The walls expanded. The floorboards groaned. Elias sat in the dark. He held the cup. It was cold. The ceramic was white. It was smooth. It was cracked. A single hairline fracture ran from the rim to the base. He did not know when it appeared. He had owned it for forty years. He had washed it every day. He had chipped it once, in anger, twenty...
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