The Pale Shadows
The glass shattered not with a scream, but with a dull, brittle crack, like a knuckle popping in a silent room. Eleanor stared at the mirror, her reflection fragmented into a dozen jagged shards, each piece holding a distorted slice of her face. The window behind the mirror had been a pane of ordinary glass, unremarkable, until the wind shifted at exactly three in the afternoon. It had not...
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