The Wistful Saga

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2026-08-21 22:55:02 -

The Wistful Saga

The air in the hollow of the old oak tree was thick, not with dust, but with a living, breathing malice that tasted of copper and rot. You held the shard of glass in your left hand, its edge slick with something that was neither sap nor blood, but a viscous, iridescent fluid that pulsed in time with your own erratic heartbeat. It was a fragment of a mirror, one of the seven that had once hung...

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