The Pale Shadows
The mirror stood in the corner of the attic, a tall, narrow slab of glass set in a frame of darkened mahogany. It was the only thing that did not gather dust. Thomas stared at it. The glass was cold. He could feel the chill rising from it, a breath of ice against his fingertips. He was twelve years old, but his hands shook with the tremor of a man who had seen too much. The house, the Whitmore...
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