The Golden Mirror
You wake not to the sound of the bell, but to the taste of iron on your tongue. The room is cold, the air thick with the scent of damp wool and old paper. You are standing before the great mirror in the East Wing of Blackwood Hall, a structure of such imposing gravity that it seems less a building and more a monument to the vanity of the dead. The glass is fractured, a spiderweb of cracks...
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