The Wistful Mirror
The mirror in the study did not crack, nor did it fog, but the face staring back at Elias Thorne was no longer his own. It was a face aged ten years in a single night, the skin drawn tight over the cheekbones like parchment over a drum, the eyes sunken into dark, cavernous sockets that held a hollow, terrified intelligence. Elias, forty-two and an archivist of modest renown, touched his own...
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