The Echo of Shattered Glass
The sound of the breaking glass is always the last thing I remember but it is also where the story begins if you look at it from the wrong end of the mirror. I am standing in the rain and the rain is tasting of sulfur and old copper and I can see the reflection of a man who looks like me but is not me because his eyes are voids where the truth used to live. We are in a city that forgot its own...
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