The Golden Mirror
The bell in the steeple did not ring; it screamed, a jagged, tearing sound that ripped the sky open and let the rain fall like a curse upon the cobblestones of Oakhaven, a town so old its very stones seemed to remember the weight of centuries. I stood in the doorway of the Archive, my hands trembling not from the cold, which was biting and wet and smelled of iron, but from the sudden, violent...
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