The Wistful Voyage
The great glass dome of the Ashworth Conservatory did not merely shatter; it exhaled. It was a sound like a long, final sigh released from a chest that had been holding its breath for a century, a crystalline exhalation that turned the air into a million glittering needles. Thomas stood in the center of the garden, his small hands raised not in defense but in surrender, watching the sky fall...
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