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Then faster. Louder. Overlapping, until the air throbbed with identity crises.
Each skeleton stared, motionless.
Then the first one... shivered.
In its mirror, it saw itself as a grand warlord crowned in obsidian—then as a lonely broom in a forgotten closet—then as a disco ball, spinning over a dance floor made of human regret.
It dropped its scythe.
The second skeleton watched itself as a beloved poet, then as a chair, then as a mistake someone almo ...
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