The Golden Mirror
The first thing you have to understand about the place, the deep, subterranean hum of it that vibrates in your molars rather than your ears, is that it is a mirror, and it is broken, and it is looking at you. I have been living in the basement of the Whitmore estate for three years, or perhaps it has been living in me, the distinction becoming increasingly irrelevant as the walls sweat a cold,...
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