The Wistful Witness

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2026-08-20 01:31:09 -

The mirror is cracked. A spiderweb of fractures radiates from the center, distorting your face into a grotesque mosaic of angles and shadows. You are standing in the antechamber. The air smells of stale lavender and cold stone. You hold a small, brass key in your palm. It is warm. It burns. You have been waiting for hours. The court is in session. The doors are shut. You are a prisoner of this...

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