The Golden Mirror
The glass breaks. Not shatters. Breaks. Like a bone under too much weight. You hold the shard. It cuts. The blood is red. The mirror is gone. You are in the tower. The stone is cold. The wind howls outside. It is not a house. It is a prison. Or a temple. The distinction is academic here. You are the Keeper. You are the Warden. You are the Sinner. Who are you? You do not know. The memory is fog....
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