The Pale Exile
The mirror cracked down the center. Not a hairline fracture, but a violent split, dividing my face into two halves that no longer fit together. I stood in the bathroom of the safehouse, the water running cold, and watched the shards catch the fluorescent light. They glittered like ice. I did not move. I could not move. My hand hovered over the porcelain sink, trembling with a force that seemed...
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