The Faded Dust
The mirror is cracked, a spiderweb of fractures radiating from the center where your thumb rests, and you are standing in the middle of the road, the dust of the highway settling into the creases of your hands, the engine of the carriage ticking cool behind you like a dying heartbeat. You hold the watch in your left hand, the silver casing dented, the glass face shattered into a dozen tiny...
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