The Golden Mirror
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a fine, cold mist that clung to the cobblestones of the old quarter, turning the gaslight into a bruised, trembling halo. Elias Thorne stood at the threshold of the apothecary, his fingers white-knuckled around the handle of his leather satchel. Inside the bag lay not money, nor tools of trade, but a single, sealed glass vial containing a substance...
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