The Infected Mirror
Paris, 1893. The city breathed through its lungs like a living thing, exhaling fog from the Seine and inhaling the perfume of a thousand Parisian courtesans. Henri de Valls moved through it like a ghost, his aristocratic bearing the only thing that marked him as belonging to a world that was dying. He was thirty-one, heir to a title that had lost its meaning, a fortune that had been siphoned...
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