The Plantation of Broken Mirrors

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2026-05-31 20:30:07 -

The plantation smelled of damp earth and rotting wood and the kind of silence that exists only in places where people used to live and no longer do. I stood at the edge of the porch and watched the rain soak through the roof, which had been leaking for as long as I could remember. My name is Ezekiel Beauregard. My grandfather called me Zek when I was small, and when I grew too old for...

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