Chapter 59 · for subscribers
Twenty-six of them, face up, laid out in a closed ring on my own gravel with the middle swept bare. In nineteen years I have never let one piece of glass stand uncovered in this precinct after dusk, and my neighbours carried twenty-six of them up three hundred steps in the dark and set them down in a circle because nobody ever told them it was not an offering. They think they are giving it back to me.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.