What I saw in the mirror wasn't breathtaking- but it was taking my breath. She sat there, brushing her hair. Long. Black. Silky. It flowed past her waist-no, longer than that-an endless midnight waterfall. I stared at the illusion in the mirror, stupidly perhaps... or maybe in awe. Then a voice broke the silence-calm, cold, and certain-as the image vanished and the mirror returned to its usual stillness: "Her hair will reach only her shoulders by the time you meet her."
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