Ghostie
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It began with whispers. Barely audible at first, like leaves rustling in a soft breeze. I was standing before the large, ornate mirror that hung in the dim hallway of my ancestral home, a house that had seen generations of psychics, each contributing to its enigmatic aura. The whispers grew more insistent, coiling around my consciousness like smoke. They called my name, pulling me towards the glass. My reflection, once familiar, now seemed like a stranger, its eyes harboring a malevolent glint.
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