The Golden Mirror
The brass surface of the vanity mirror did not reflect the room, but rather a swirling vortex of amber light that seemed to pull at the very fabric of the air, and Margaret Holloway stood before it with her knuckles white and her breath coming in shallow, ragged sips, knowing full well that the glass was the only thing in the house of Saint Jude that remained honest, even if that honesty was a...
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