The Golden Mirror
The heavy oak door of the Hall of Mirrors swung shut behind Margaret with a sound like a final judgment, sealing her in a corridor of polished steel and cold stone. She did not look back at the retinue of guards, their faces hidden behind visors that reflected only the dim torchlight, but she knew they were watching. She knew they were waiting for her to falter, to weep, to beg. Instead, she...
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