The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-23 07:51:19 -

The mist smelled of wet pine and old iron. It was the smell of the Green, thick and cloying, sticking to the back of Elias Thorne’s throat. He stood alone on the ridge, the obsidian mirror heavy in his left hand. The glass was cracked down the center, a jagged line like a scar. In the reflection, the forest did not look like trees. It looked like a mouth, wide and hungry, shifting in the fog....

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