The Golden Mirror
The rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed a relentless, hollow rhythm against the high windows of the estate. I stood before the glass, my reflection fractured by the storm’s violence. It looked back at me, hollow-eyed, pale, a ghost haunting its own life. The air inside smelled of old dust and cold stone. I was trapped. Not by bars, but by debt. By duty. By the silent, crushing...
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