The Golden Mirror
The dust in the study of the Blackwood estate did not settle; it hovered, a suspended galaxy of gray motes that caught the thinning afternoon light. Silas Vane sat at the heavy oak desk, his fingers stained with the iron-gall ink of his translations, his eyes fixed not on the parchment before him but on the object resting in the center of the blotter. It was a small, hand-held mirror, its frame...
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