The Golden Mirror
The boiler house of the textile mill in Harrowgate was a tomb of iron and soot, a sealed lung that breathed only the hot, sulfurous air of industry. You stood before the great copper mirror, the only reflection in this subterranean labyrinth, your breath misting against its polished surface. It was a relic from the mill’s Victorian heyday, a vanity of brass and glass that had survived the fires...
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