The Distant Blade
The mirror shatters. You see it in the dream. A single pane of glass, framed in oak, cracks down the center. The sound is not loud. It is a whisper. A sigh. The reflection does not break. It stays whole. You look at your hands. They are clean. They are still. You wake. The room is dark. The air is cold. It smells of damp stone and old wax. This is the Abbey of St. Jude. It sits high on the...
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