The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-18 14:03:35 -

The smell of tanned leather and horse sweat hung heavy in the air of the village square, a thick, cloying scent that seemed to settle into the pores of the skin. Elias Thorne stood by his cart, his hands resting on the reins of a draft horse that pranced impatiently, its breath pluming in the crisp autumn air. He was a man of few words, his face a map of deep lines carved by wind and sun, his...

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