The Golden Farce
The mirror did not break in the way one expects glass to shatter, with a sharp, crystalline scream that leaves jagged shards on the floor, but instead it wept, a slow, viscous unraveling of the silvered surface that bled out into the air like mercury spilling from a broken thermometer, and Margaret stood before it in the dim, amber glow of the library, her hands trembling not from fear but from...
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