The Pale Meridian
The lake did not reflect the sky, but the underside of the earth. Margaret stood at the edge of the black water, her bare feet sinking into the silt, and watched her own face return to her. It was not a reflection. It was a second woman, standing behind the glass of the surface, breathing with a rhythm that lagged half a beat behind her own. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of wet iron...
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