The Wistful Mirror

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 17:25:12 -

The mist clung to the stone floor of the great hall, thick and cold, smelling of wet wool and old iron. I stood before the Black Mirror. It was not glass. It was a slab of polished obsidian, taller than a man, framed in silver that had tarnished to a bruised purple. The court had gathered. They whispered. Their voices were dry leaves scraping across gravel. I felt the weight of their eyes. They...

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