The Distant Affair
The glass mirror above the vanity had not been whole for three days. It stood in fragments, a constellation of jagged teeth pointing inward, reflecting no face but a thousand broken ones. Elias Thorne stood before it, his hand trembling, holding a shard no larger than a thumbnail. The cold bit into his palm. He did not drop it. He did not cry out. He simply watched the light refract through the...
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