The Wistful Mirror
The glass broke before the scream did. You stand in the center of the room. The floor is slick with shards. They catch the gaslight. They hold it. They do not give it back. You look down. Your reflection is gone. You are only a shape. A silhouette cut from gray cloth. The silence is heavy. It presses against your eardrums. You are a soldier. You are the last of the Seventh Battalion. You have...
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