The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-19 12:16:39 -

I woke up screaming. The glass was on my hand. No, not glass. Bone. My own bone, cracked and white and wet. I looked down. My fingers were broken. They bent the wrong way. Like twigs snapped in a storm. I didn't feel pain. That was the first wrong thing. I felt cold. A cold that started in the marrow and moved out to the tips of my tongue. "Margaret," a voice said. It was low. Rough. Like...

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