The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-21 14:56:15 -

The brass surface of the mirror is gone, worn away by a hundred years of thumbs and tears, leaving only a dull, clouded skin that smells faintly of copper and old rain, and you hold it in your hands as if it were a live thing, a bird with its wings folded tight against its ribs, because you know that if you stop moving, if you stop walking, the fog will come back and you will be nothing but a...

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