The Wistful Mirror
Could a man drink his own reflection and survive the truth? Rosario Renteria stood before the mirror-glass in the reclamation yard, the metal cold against his palm, the wind from the offshore turbines whistling through the ribs of the dead machines. He was forty, an apothecary by trade, though the Council called him a heretic for distilling elixirs in glass that showed the end of things. The...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews