The Pale Path
You are standing in the center of the cold, damp cellar, holding the mirror up to the flickering candlelight, and the first thing you notice is not your face, but the way the glass trembles in your hand, a subtle, arrhythmic vibration that seems to originate not from your grip but from the air itself, as if the very atmosphere of this stone-walled confinement is trying to reject the reflection...
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