The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-19 15:43:39 -

The bell tolled seven times. The sound was not metallic. It was the grinding of teeth in a dark cellar. It echoed through the stone halls of the Abbey of St. Jude. The air tasted of iron and old wax. Malcolm stood at the workbench. His hands trembled. They were large hands. They were stained with the blue-black soot of the forge. He looked at his wife. She was standing in the corner. She wore...

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