The Golden Mirror
The ink was still wet when the seal broke. It lay there on the black oak desk, a circle of vermillion so deep it seemed to bleed into the wood, a mark of authority that had once bound a soul to its duty. Elias Thorne stared at it, his hands trembling not with fear, but with the sudden, terrifying weight of their own emptiness. He was a prisoner in a cell of his own making, a man whose identity...
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