The Wistful Voyage
The waking was not a gradual ascent into light but a sudden, violent jolt, as if the fabric of the world had been torn open to reveal the raw, bleeding machinery beneath, and there, in the center of that exposed void, hung the mirror, whole and intact, reflecting not her face but the vast, indifferent architecture of the court she had fled, and she knew, with the cold, technical precision that...
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