The Pale Verdict
The silence in the antechamber was not empty but heavy, a physical weight that pressed against your temples, thick with the scent of stale beeswax and the cold, metallic tang of fear. You stand there, your fingers tracing the rough, jagged edge of the mirror that hangs crookedly above the stone basin, your reflection staring back at you with eyes that are too wide, too knowing, and entirely...
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