The Golden Mirror
The fire started in the ledger room, a small, greedy thing that consumed the ink-stained paper of three centuries before it reached the oak beams. It was not an act of malice, nor of accident, but a correction. The heat curled the edges of the accounts, turning the crisp, white pages into brittle, blackened leaves that drifted down like ash flakes onto the cobblestones of the market square....
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