The Golden Mirror
The dream is not a dream but a memory of a mirror shattering, and you are standing in the center of the shards, not on them, because the glass is liquid now, a cold silver river that flows up your legs and into your lungs, and you are trying to tell someone that the water is gold, that it is not dirty, that it is just the truth reflecting back at you in a way that is too bright to look at, but...
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