The Pale Fracture
The first shard of the mirror struck Maren’s cheek before she could even register the sound of the glass shattering. It was not a clean break. It was a jagged, violent explosion of silver light that filled the high, vaulted ceiling of the nursery. Maren did not scream. She stood frozen, her hand still raised, fingers curled around the handle of the silver hand-mirror her mother had bequeathed...
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