The Pale Fracture
The index card slipped from your fingers, its edges soft and frayed from years of handling, landing on the metal grate of the floor with a sound like a dry leaf cracking. You picked it up, the cardboard gritty under your thumb, and stared at the blank white space where your father’s name should have been, a void that hummed with a low, static frequency that made the hair on your forearms stand...
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