The Pale Verdict
The glass pane of the bathroom mirror is a thing you look through, not at, in the early hours when the house settles into its bones with a series of low, settling groans that sound like distant traffic on a wet highway. You stand there, the toothbrush forgotten in your hand, the bristles slick with paste that has begun to dry, and you watch the figure that stands opposite you. It is you, but it...
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