The Distant Ghost
The furnace held at two thousand degrees, a white eye staring through the heat shield, and I counted the seconds between my breaths to keep my hands steady. Three days until Clara’s wedding, and the chalice for her new home was still a lump of molten silica, stubborn and unformed, glowing with the anger of the earth. I am a master glassblower, or I was, until the last time I saw my daughter’s...
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