The Wistful Mirror
The mud was three inches deep and smelled of iron and rot, a thick, sucking paste that pulled at Elias’s boots with every step, and he could still hear the wet, tearing sound of the rifle bolt jamming, a metallic shriek that had cut through the roar of the artillery just seconds before Julian’s body hit the earth. Elias stood frozen, his hands trembling so violently he could not grip the stock,...
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