[Prompt from http://daily-writing.blogspot.com/ .]
I brush my teeth and look in the mirror but all I could still see where the rolling knolls of grass and lying cattle spread over the field after battle. The more I stared at the mirror—at the knolls tinged red in the setting sun—did I realize my mind’s eye had been lying to me all along. Geremy had been right, of course; the field at Faerenshire had been flat ever since the country fell into the hands of the Tyrant. The knolls my memory had supplied me with ever since the age of ten was a lie.
Faerenshire didn’t contain hills after the battle. The only things that littered the field were burnt supply wagons and dead bodies.