The Wistful Mirror
The door slammed shut. The lock clicked. The handle was cold. Elias held the brass. It was a key. It was a mirror. It was a boundary. He stood in the hallway. The carpet was gray. The air smelled of dust and old paper. He was an immigrant. He was a citizen. He was a ghost. The key was small. It was intricate. It had teeth. It had edges. It was a map. It was a weapon. It was a lie. Elias looked...
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