The Faded Photograph
The mirror was cracked. Not shattered, just a single, jagged line running from the top left corner down to the center, splitting the glass like a river on a map. Elias stood before it. He did not move. His reflection stared back. It looked tired. It looked like him. He was a restorer. He fixed old things. Paintings, frames, varnish. He made them look new. He made them look like they had never...
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