The Wistful Mirror
The frost came down upon the village of Oakhaven not as a gentle veil but as a siege, a crystalline assault that turned the cobblestones into treacherous shards and the breath of every living soul into a visible, shivering ghost. It was the deep of winter, a time when the world held its breath, and in the cramped, soot-stained attic of the old mill, Thomas Ashworth lay trembling, his body a...
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