Mara Winter stood in the dim light of her grandmother’s study, the heavy velvet drapes drawn against the midday sun, and stared at the object she had inherited. It was a mirror—tall, imposing, its frame wrought of dark wood carved into curling vines and thorned roses. A patina of dust coated its surface, and the glass itself bore a single, slender crack running from top to bottom, like a silver vein fractured by an unseen force. Mara’s heart thrummed with a mixture of reverence and unease: she had always known this mirror existed, locked away in the attic long before she could remember, but now it sat before her, whispering of something profound and unsettling. The air in the small room felt charged, as though the cracked glass had drawn every mote of stillness into its fractured heart.She reached out a tentative hand, fingertips trembling as they hovered above the cool surface. The crack seemed to pulse beneath her skin, a subtle vibration that resonated through her bones. With a breath she brushed her nail along the fissure’s edge. A faint hum echoed in her ears. The hairs on the nape of her neck rose. Mara drew back, heart pounding—yet the hum persisted, a low, insistent song only she could hear. It wrapped around her memories, stirring echoes of childhood nights spent in her grandmother’s house, when the old woman would whisper stories of the mirror’s power, warning that it should never be touched, never be coaxed open.Outside, the house settled with a groan, as if protesting the disturbance of its long-held secret. Mara crossed to the tall bookcases that lined the opposite wall, trailing her fingers along spines of leather-bound volumes. She sought the journal her grandmother had kept in her final years—a battered, ribbon-tied diary in which the old woman recorded her dreams, her regrets, and what she rather quietly called “the mirror’s curse.” Pulling it free, Mara sank onto the worn Persian rug, the mirror’s reflection watching her back with impossible intent. The pages of the journal were yellowed, and the ink had faded to a soft brown. Yet the first lines were clear, as though written only yesterday: “I fear what I have unleashed. The mirror did not choose me, but I chose to bind it—and now its voice calls to me once more.”
درخواست شما ابتدا بررسی شده و در صورتی که قابل حل باشد قیمت گذاری می شود. پس از پرداخت ارسال خواهد شد.
برای بدست آوردن لینک کتاب:
عنوان کتاب مد نظر را در گوگل سرچ کنید. سپس یک لینک از کتاب در گوگل بوک، آمازون و یا دیگر فروشگاه های کتاب را در ایبوک رالی سفارش دهید.
در صورتی که لینکی از کتاب پیدا نکردید:
عنوان کتاب را وارد کنید. برای جلوگیری از اشتباه، در توضیحات درخواست حتما مشخصات دقیق کتاب درخواستی را وارد کنید. (در صورت امکان isbn کتاب و یا سال چاپ را هم وارد کنید.)