The Golden Mirror
In the dim, suffocating amber of the early morning, where the air hung heavy with the scent of damp wool and stale coal smoke, Elias Thorne lay awake in a bed that felt less like a sanctuary and more like a tomb, his eyes fixed upon the ceiling where water stains had mapped the contours of a ghostly face that wept without sound. He was a man who had crossed an ocean not merely to escape the...
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