The Wistful Petal
The first crack runs through the central vase like a lightning strike frozen in amber. You watch it spread, a jagged white line bisecting the clear, hand-blown glass. Your hands are trembling. They have been trembling for three years, ever since the palsy started to steal the fine motor control that made you a master of the craft. You are Elias, forty-two, and you are failing. The workshop is...
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