The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-19 05:38:11 -

The bees were not bees. They were dust motes caught in a shaft of amber light, swirling in a slow, hypnotic dance above the polished floor of the parlor. Elara watched them from the velvet armchair, her fingers idle on the armrest, counting their revolutions. One, two, three. The house was old, older than the kingdom, older than the language used to name its rooms. It breathed in the stillness...

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