The Wistful Mirror
The glass breaks. It does not shatter with a crash. It fails with a sigh. A thin, high-pitched whine that vibrates in your molars. You stand in the center of the room. The mirror is gone. Or rather, the image of the room is gone. Only the jagged shards remain. They glitter like frozen tears on the wall. You do not touch them. You know why. You have always known why. The rain hammers the...
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