The Golden Mirror
The hall was a cathedral of excess, the air thick with the scent of spiced wine and the heavy, cloying perfume of lilies. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the marble floor, his uniform pressed to a sharp, unwavering geometry that seemed to cut through the soft blur of the party. He held a glass of amber liquid he did not drink, his fingers white-knuckled around the stem. To him, the...
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