The Golden Mirror
The mirror was cracked. Not shattered. Just a single, jagged line running from the top left corner down to the center. It looked like a vein. Or a scar. Mara stood before it. The glass was old. Pre-war, the building inspector had said. He had stamped the papers. He had not looked at her. He had looked at the wall behind the frame. "Fix it," he said. "I can't," Mara replied. "Then remove it. We...
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