The Distant Blade
The lamp flickered. Gas. Always gas. I held the mirror. It was cold. Colder than the room. Colder than my hands. Mr. Thorne stood by the door. He did not move. He never moved. Not until I asked. We were in the basement. The walls were damp. The floor was stone. Stone that had been there for centuries. Before the pipes. Before the wires. Before the light. I looked at my face. It was not my...
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