The Golden Mirror
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, industrial drumming against the slate roof of the Magistrate’s Hall that seemed to vibrate directly into the marrow of Thomas Bradshaw’s bones, a deep, resonant ache that mirrored the hollow space left in his chest since he had traded his uniform for a clerk’s waistcoat, a transition that had felt less like a promotion and more like a slow,...
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