The sound was not like in films.
There was no bang, no cinematic roar. There was a flat, hard crack, like a plank snapped over a knee, and then a long, high, rushing tearing that Aria felt in her teeth, and the great front window of Bellefiore, the glass she had polished every Sunday for four years, came apart in a single pale sheet and fell into the room like water.
She was already moving. That...
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Chapter 12: Glass
10 min read · 2,263 words
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