The Pale Fracture
The fracture was pale, a thin vein of white running through the grey limestone of the ancestral hall. Elias stood before it, his hand hovering inches from the stone, feeling the draft that seeped from the crack. He was forty years old, and his knees ached with a dull, persistent throb that had nothing to do with the dampness of the room. The State had sent the notice three days ago, a stamped...
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