The Golden Mirror
The sound of the breaking glass is not a shattering, but a sigh. It is a long, high-pitched exhale that seems to pull the air out of the room, leaving a vacuum where the noise should be. You stand in the center of the drawing room, your hands trembling at your sides, staring at the floor where the gilded frame lies in splinters. The mirror is gone. Or rather, it is scattered, a constellation of...
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