The Pale Meridian
The mirror in the dressing room of St. Jude’s was cracked down the center, a jagged scar running from the top left corner to the bottom right, splitting my reflection into two disjointed halves. I stood before it, adjusting the collar of my wool dress, watching the glass tremble slightly as the cathedral bells began their midday toll. The sound was a physical weight, a dull thud against the...
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