The Wistful Mirror
"Look at the color, Silas. It’s not just brown. It’s the color of the earth before the rain breaks the crust. Can you see the veins of gold in the rind? That is the promise of winter." Old Man Gristle stood by the open window of the community center, his hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had gone cold an hour ago. The November wind howled outside, rattling the glass panes of the crumbling...
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