The Wistful Mirror
The rain did not fall so much as it was exhaled by the sky, a thick, grey vapor that clung to the skin of the world and refused to evaporate, turning the cobblestones of the old town into a slick, mirror-like expanse that reflected the fractured, trembling light of the streetlamps which themselves seemed to be dying out, one by one, under the weight of an unseen, oppressive fog that rolled in...
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