PREVIEW

... There are mirrors that lie.

And then there are mirrors that moan—because they are no longer reflections.

They are echoes rewritten into flesh.

Nyx stepped into the obsidian chamber with no sword drawn.

She didn’t need to.

The Writeless Blade hung at her back like a secret she no longer feared revealing.

Before her stood the mirror.

But it was no longer smooth.

It was swollen.

The surface bulged, pulsed, trembled with someth ...

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