The Wistful Mirror
The glass was cold. It bit into my palm. I held it up. My face stared back. It was not my face. It was older. The lines were deeper. The eyes were hollow. I looked away. The room was dark. The candles guttered. Shadows danced on the wall. They looked like hands. They reached for me. I did not move. I was still. The silence was heavy. It pressed against my eardrums. I heard a knock. It was soft....
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