The Distant Journey
You stand before the glass, a pane of polished obsidian that stretches from the floor to the high, vaulted ceiling of the chamber, and in its depths you do not see your face, but a stranger wearing your skin. It is a trick of the light, or perhaps of the soul, for the reflection stares back with an emptiness that you have never quite managed to replicate in your own eyes. You are here because...
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