The Golden Visit
The mirror in the hallway of the Whitmore estate did not reflect. It absorbed. This was the first thing Elias had learned, and the last thing he was willing to forget. He stood before it now, his hands trembling not from cold, but from the sheer, technical weight of the silence that pressed against his eardrums. The glass was a sheet of black water, devoid of his face, devoid of the room behind...
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