The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-18 22:00:46 -

The kiln room was warm. Too warm. The air tasted of sulfur and old dust. I moved my hands. They were steady. They had to be. The wedding was tonight. Margaret was waiting. She was always waiting. Her patience was a heavy stone in my chest. I loved her. The feeling was primal. It was not thought. It was breath. I was a maker of glass. Not jewelry. Not art. I made the mirrors. The big ones. The...

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