The Wistful Mirror
The Wistful Mirror The Wistful Mirror They found it in the attic, beneath a pile of moth-eaten wool blankets that smelled of lavender and something older—dust, perhaps, or the faint metallic ghost of coins that had once pressed against skin. The mirror was oval, its frame carved from dark wood that might have been walnut if it weren't for the way it caught the light, throwing back reflections...
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