As the years went by, each day marked by gentle hands and sweet ticking talk, I saw my good wolf emerge in its black-platinum face.
In that antique mirror I saw myself as if gazing into a sunrise lake, at that moment when the world is a happy blend of monochrome and colour.
The antique mirror was a dapple of black and gold, the two of them woven in perfect pitch.
In that antique mirror I saw my old soul, my true self, the one that has survived the eons to take this new form.
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