The Wistful Mirror
The house breathes in with the sound of your own pulse, a deep, wet inhalation that fills the lungs of the stone walls and pushes the air out through the cracks in the floorboards, and you stand there in the center of the hall, feeling the weight of the silence pressing against your eardrums like deep water, knowing that if you do not speak now, if you do not break the stillness with a word...
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