The Golden Mirror
The feast was a study in controlled decay. Candles gutted on silver candelabra, their wax pooling like spilled cream over the polished mahogany of the long table. The air was thick with the scent of roasted pheasant, rosemary, and the faint, metallic tang of old fear that clung to the high ceilings of the estate. Elias Thorne sat at the head of the table, his hands resting flat on the white...
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