The Faded Frequency
The chair leg snapped with a sound like a bone breaking in a dry field, and the wood splintered back into its original, jagged state the moment I set down the tube of glue, as if the object had simply forgotten that I had ever tried to mend it. I stood there in the dusty light of the main hall, holding a splinter in my left hand and a broken piece of oak in my right, watching the varnish peel...
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