The Pale Dance
"You’re going to break it again, aren’t you?" The voice did not come from the air. It did not come from the shadows pooling in the corners of the white room. It came from the reflection in the mirror that stretched the entire length of the east wall, a pane of glass so clear it seemed less like a surface and more like a window into a void. I looked at my hands. They were small, pale, and...
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