The Wistful Mirror
The bell in the tower of St. Jude’s had cracked. You remember the sound of it shattering, a high, thin scream that cut through the heavy, sulfurous air of the crypt below. It was not a metaphor. The bronze lip of the instrument had split down its center, leaking a discordant, bleeding note that vibrated in your teeth. You stood before the great stone slab, your hands trembling not from cold,...
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