The Wistful Mirror
I woke in the rain. It was not water. It was mercury. Cold and heavy. It slid over my skin. I was in a room. The walls were iron. The floor was glass. Below me, gears turned. They ground against each other. The sound was a scream. A low, metallic moan. I held the mirror. It was small. Handheld. Brass frame. The glass was black. It did not reflect my face. It reflected the truth. I knew this. I...
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