The Wistful Mirror

added blog Literature

2026-08-17 23:40:31 -

The blood was warm on my cheek. It ran down to my chin, a thick red thread against the pale, dusty skin of my face. I spat it out. It hit the flagstones with a wet, heavy sound. The air smelled of copper and old wool. It smelled of fear. I stood in the center of the room. My hands were shaking. Not from the cold. The cold was a ghost here, trapped under the heavy oak beams. I shook because I...

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