The Wistful Letter
The glass shatters. It is not a clean break. It is a violent, jagged explosion. The mirror in the hallway does not just crack. It dies. You stand in the corridor of the apartment. Your feet are bare. The cold floor bites your skin. There is blood. It is bright red. It is on the floor. It is on your hands. It is on the white tile. You look down. The shards of the mirror lie in a starburst...
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