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... hitched as she picked up the small mirror.
It was an old, silver-framed piece, the edges slightly chipped from age, and right in the center, drawn in black paint, was a childish mustache. Her fingers traced the familiar inked lines.
"My mother used to hold this mirror up and pretend to be my father," she murmured as her memory resurfaced.
A small girl was giggling behind her hand as she watched her mother pretend to be a stern nobleman. "Look at me, Liora! Do I not look ...
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