The Wistful Mirror
In the dream, the glass is not a mirror but a window into a room you have never entered, and the light coming through it is the color of old bruised plums. You are standing in the hallway of the Sterling Estate, the floorboards creaking under the weight of your invisible shoes, and you can hear the hum of the air conditioning, a low, mechanical drone that sounds suspiciously like a heartbeat....
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