The Wistful Mirror
Chapter One The glass remembers what the hand forgets, a fact that kept Roisin Rafferty awake in the damp cellar beneath her workshop on the Burren, where the air tasted of sulfur and old iron. She was thirty-two, a glassblower by trade and a fugitive by necessity, her hands blistered and bleeding from the heat of the blowpipe that she held with a grip that had long since become instinctual....
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