The Golden Mirror
The carriage wheels bit into the frost-hardened gravel of the estate, a rhythmic crunching that sounded less like travel and more like the grinding of bones. Elias Thorne sat in the back, his hands clasped over a leather-bound journal that had begun to feel less like a record of his work and more like a shackle on his wrist. He was a man who had spent twenty years chasing the truth through the...
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