The Wistful Mirror
The silence of the Hall of Mirrors was not an absence of sound but a heavy, living substance that pressed against the eardrums with the weight of centuries, a suffocating velvet that swallowed the faintest whisper of a breath before it could reach the air. I stood at the far end of the corridor, my back to the grand tapestry that depicted the Fall of the Old World, my hands resting lightly on...
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