The Wistful Letter
The cellar door groaned open, admitting a sliver of pale, sickly light that fell across the floorboards like a blade, and in that thinning beam, Arthur saw the first shard of the mirror. It was not a clean break, but a jagged, ugly fracture that split the reflection of his own face into two divergent halves, one looking left, the other right, neither recognizing the other. He knelt, the dust of...
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