The Faded Attic
The mirror was broken. Not shattered into glass shards, no. It was fractured. A web of white lines spread across the silver surface like frost on a winter window. I stared at it. My face looked back. It was not my face. It was a stranger’s. A man with hollow cheeks and eyes that held too much. Too much knowledge. Too much silence. I am Arthur. I work in the Archives. The building is old. Stone...
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