The Wistful Campus
The mirror had cracked down the center of the hall, a jagged white line splitting the reflection of the house into two disjointed halves, and Elara stood before it in her nightgown, holding the heavy brass hand mirror that had belonged to her grandmother, watching the fracture spread in the glass like a vein of ice in a winter river. It was not the house that was broken, she thought, though the...
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