The Golden Mirror
The dinner party at the Ashworth manor had a quality of suspended animation, a heavy, gilded silence that hung in the air like the scent of overripe lilies and stale tobacco. Elias Thorne sat at the head of the long mahogany table, his hands resting flat on the polished wood, fingers splayed as if trying to anchor himself to the earth in a world that was slowly tilting away from him. He was...
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