The last thing I saw before I opened my eyes was a small girl, timid as she peered into a looking glass, her black eyes glazed with fear. “Do you have a name?” she whispered. I smiled at her, memory tugging at the corners of my ancient mind. The strange magic, the same beautiful wonder, of the children I once knew. They called me a King’s name once, I said, my tail flickering. But that was a long time ago. “What shall I call you, then?” Nothing, child, I said, crawling back into the blackness. I’m just the wind in the trees, the shadow, and the fright. The echo in the leaves… the nightmare in
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