The Distant Threshold
The ice cracks. You hear it before you feel it. A sharp, high-pitched snap in the silence of the corridor. Then the shatter. A cascade of white fragments raining down on the polished floor. You stand there. Your hands are empty. The mirror is gone. It was a large pane of glass. It reflected your face, but not your eyes. It showed your hair, pinned back tight. It showed the high collar of your...
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