The Wistful Silence
The crack in the obsidian mirror ran from the top left corner down to the center, a jagged scar that looked less like a flaw in the glass and more like a vein of black lightning frozen in time. I am Elias Thorne, thirty-four years old, a watchman for the city of Oakhaven, and I have spent the last six months trying to repair that crack because it is the only thing left of Sarah, my wife, who...
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