The Wistful Mirror
The Great Hall of Blackwood Manor smelled of roasted pheasant and old dust, a scent that clung to the velvet drapes like a ghost. It was a feast for the county, a sprawling tableau of silver and crystal where the wealthy of the valley gathered to celebrate the opening of the new courthouse, a monument to civic order funded by the ironclad coffers of Silas Thorne. Silas stood at the center of it...
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