The Wistful Mirror

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 19:30:10 -

I woke with the taste of iron in my mouth. The air was thick, wet, and smelled of sulfur and old blood. I was standing in a room I did not recognize. The walls were made of black iron, riveted tight. The floor was slick. My hands were shaking. I looked down. I held a mirror. It was not glass. It was a slab of polished obsidian, cold to the touch. It was heavy. It weighed more than I should have...

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