The Wistful Mirror

added blog Literature

2026-08-25 09:26:16 -

The soot in my lungs has a taste, metallic and cold, like the iron filings we used to sweep from the loom floor before the rain started. I remember the weight of the brass mirror in my hand, a heavy, cracked thing that held the gaslight in fractured shards. I was twelve then, small enough to fit into the gaps between the machines, but old enough to know that silence was a currency I did not...

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