The town of Mirrorvale is nestled in the mountains along a highway that runs into a tunnel through a mountain. The population sign by the courthouse reads 2386.
It was a quiet sort of place. Not without its issues, plagued by the economic decline and increase in loneliness and drug use common to many small towns, but overall a pleasant enough place which was mostly getting by. In older days, Mirrorvale hosted a mine, a quarry, and a timber mill, but these days all that remained were the tourist spots and campgrounds. The whole of the city relied on traffic from passers through and from tourists who had come to enjoy the wilderness without having to go too far from civilization. The teenagers of Mirrorvale would have drinking parties in the cabins in the nearby woods in off-seasons when there were no tourists, but the police tended to overlook it as long as they behaved themselves well enough.
It was a foggy and grey morning in December when every living thing in Mirrorvale suddenly awoke all at once. There was a cold chill in the air that permenated the town from border to border.
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