The Wistful Mirror
The glass did not shatter with a sound, but with a silence so profound it seemed to swallow the very air from the vaulted ceiling of the hall. It was a pane of ancient, thick mirror-glass, set into the stone wall of the keep, reflecting the flickering torchlight and the gathered faces of the court in distorted, wavering shapes. Margot stood before it, her hand pressed flat against the cold...
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