00:00They say the dead leave behind traces, unseen fingerprints of memory pressed into wallpaper,
00:04floorboards, glass. I didn't believe in that, not until the night I moved into my sister's
00:09house on Bell Street. The place had the distinct smell of dust and perfume, like a vanity drawer
00:15left open too long. Everything was where Margaret left it. Her sweater still draped over the velvet
00:22armchair, her porcelain ashtray balanced on the window ledge. But it was the mirror that unsettled
00:27me, tall, iron-framed, and bolted to the plaster like it was afraid to fall, or worse, afraid to
00:33be taken. I couldn't explain it, but each night I felt it watching me, not reflecting me, watching.
00:41And then came the first whisper.
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