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He knew there was another.
He'd always known; always felt it.
And it was, it had always been, strange that not once --
-- not once --
-- was he permitted near a mirror.
When he mounted the Grey Throne's dais, he'd called for a great hall to be constructed.
A hall of pillars.
Mirrored pillars.
The night of its completion, he stepped silently through its gallery.
And the darkling figure that was himself reached from the glass.