The Golden Mirror
The rain does not fall so much as it accumulates, a thick, grey silt that settles into the crevices of your bones, a weight that has been there for so long you have forgotten it is not part of your original anatomy, and you are standing in the center of the Hall of Mirrors, which is not a room but a suspension, a liminal space where the air tastes of copper and old paper, and you are holding...
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