The Wistful Atlas
The glass did not shatter with a sound like breaking, but with a wet, heavy collapse, the way a lung fails in the final moments of a long illness. Judith Whitlock stood in the center of the municipal hall, her boots sinking into the slurry of lead and cobalt, and watched the ancient stained-glass window of Oakhaven, the one that had stared down at the town for three centuries, reduce itself to...
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