The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-20 09:33:44 -

You wake in the cold, not with the sharp jolt of a startle but with the slow, viscous realization that the dream has not ended, that the fog of sleep is still clinging to your limbs like wet wool, and you are lying in the dirt of a field that has no name, beneath a sky so low and bruised it feels as though it might press down and crush the breath from your chest. The first thing you know is the...

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