The Pale Dance
The glass shattered not with a bang, but with a sound like a sigh of relief, a long, thin exhalation that seemed to stretch across the length of the sterile, white-walled examination room until it hit the far wall and died. Margaret Holloway stood in the center of the shrapnel, her shoes sinking slightly into the web of fragments, and she did not flinch. She watched the pieces settle, a...
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