The Golden Mirror
The fire started in the cellar. It started in the dark, where the old pipes sweated and the air tasted of rust and rot. It started in the heart of the house, that great, stone belly that had held so many secrets. It started in the dark. Arthur stood by the window. He watched the orange glow pulse through the glass. It was a slow rhythm. A heartbeat. He did not run. He did not scream. He just...
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