The Distant Ghost
"You're not him," I said. My voice sounded thin in the cold air. It snapped like a dry twig. The man in the glass stared back. He wore my coat. He wore my face. But the eyes were wrong. They were too calm. Too empty. "Who is he, then?" he asked. His lips didn't move. The sound came from inside the room. It was a low hum. It vibrated in my teeth. "I am the prisoner," I said. "You are the...
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