The Wistful Mirror
The glass of the bathroom mirror was cold, colder than the winter air that seeped through the cracked seal of the window. Elias Thorne stood before it, his knuckles white as he gripped the sink, watching the reflection of a man who did not exist. In the glass, Elias was older, his face a ruin of hollows and dark circles, his posture broken by a limp that the real Elias did not yet have. The...
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