The Wistful Mirror
The tower stood. It stood like a broken tooth. I climbed. The stones were cold. My fingers bled. "You shouldn't be here, Thomas." The voice came from above. A shadow. A shape. "I have to see it," I said. My breath rattled. "See what?" The mirror. The great glass. The eye of the court. I knew the legend. Everyone did. The King kept the truth in the mirror. He said it showed the soul. He said it...
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