The Wistful Silence
The stone cracked. It was a small thing, a hairline fracture in the great mirror of the hall. But it was enough. I saw it before the Lord did. I saw it before the crowd. The glass was old, older than my father, older than the king’s decree that made us prisoners of our own reflection. We lived in the shadow of that glass. We slept with our backs to it. We ate with our eyes down, afraid of what...
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