The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-18 22:56:46 -

The rain on the carriage roof is a sound like grinding teeth, a relentless, rhythmic screech that vibrates through the wood and into your bones. You are not the driver, though you sit in the front seat, your hands gripping the straps so tightly that the leather creaks. You are the cargo. You are the stain that the kingdom has decided to scrub away, or perhaps, the stain that has scrubbed itself...

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