The potter

No two vases are the same. Stephan, who makes them, would say they are like snowflakes, except he has not heard the phrase, and does not know snow.

He does not use a wheel. There are no wheels where Stephan is. Enthusiasts find odd fragments in forgotten verges or farmland fallen to ruin, but the revolution disassembled most.

No, Stephan throws his pots by hand, under the only intact window. He likes how the stream of mote-heavy light tinges the clay red and blue. On the rare occasions he needs decoration, he mixes his paints in the font. Why not?

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