The Golden Mirror
You are the mirror. You are the glass. You are the dust. The air in the cellar is thick. It tastes of damp stone and old iron. You stand in the dark. Your hands are bound. The rope bites into your wrists. It is a clean knot. A professional knot. You are a man of the law. You know the difference. This is no thief’s work. This is the work of the magistrate’s son. You wait. The door creaks. Light...
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