The Distant Legend
The mirror was broken. Not cracked, not chipped. Broken. A spiderweb of fractures spidering out from the center, each shard reflecting a different piece of your face. You stand before it in the dressing room of the old hall. The walls are peeling. The air smells of dust and old perfume. You hold the frame in your hands. It is heavy. The glass is cold. You are not supposed to be here. You know...
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