The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-20 16:41:18 -

The house at the end of Sycamore Lane did not merely sit on the hill; it clung to it, its white siding peeling in long, shivering strips that looked like old skin shedding in the wind. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of lemon polish and old wool, a heavy, suffocating sweetness that Marcus had grown up breathing as naturally as he breathed the dust motes dancing in the afternoon light....

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