The Wistful Saga
The mirror was cracked. Not shattered, but fractured. A single hairline fissure ran from the top left corner, jagging down to the center. It looked like a vein. It looked like a lightning bolt frozen in glass. Thomas stood before it. He did not move. He watched the line. It split his face. It split his eyes. One eye was whole. The other was broken. The room was cold. It was a stone chamber in...
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