The Distant Joke
The mirror was cracked down the center, a jagged scar of black glass that Elara had tried to repair with resin and patience, but the fault line only deepened. It was the year 1342, and the winter wind howled against the shutters of the cottage, a sound like teeth grinding on stone. Elara stood before the glass, her hands trembling not from the cold, but from the weight of what she saw. In the...
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