The Golden Mirror

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2026-08-17 12:14:57 -

The Golden Mirror

The rain fell in thin, silver needles. It pricked the cobblestones. It pricked my boots. I stood in the courtyard. The stones were wet. They were cold. I held the key. It was brass. It was heavy. It burned my palm. I am Sir Julian Thorne. I am the King’s Hand. I am a servant of the crown. I am a man who has forgotten how to sleep. I walked toward the door. The door was oak. It was old. It...

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