The Wistful Mirror
The glass shattered. Not broke. Shattered. Into a thousand jagged teeth. They scattered across the marble floor. They glittered like ice. Like frozen light. Miles stood still. His hand hung in the air. The hammer lay on the rug. Heavy. Black. Dull. The room was silent. No wind. No sound. Just the dust. Rising in the shafts of light. He looked at his hand. It trembled. A fine, high-pitched...
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