The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-20 04:53:14 -

The iron gate of the Blackwood Keep did not creak. It never did. The hinges were oiled by hands that had long since turned to dust, or perhaps the silence was simply so thick it swallowed sound before it could form. Elias Thorne stood before it, his breath pluming in the cold October air, and watched the mist. It was a grey, churning thing, a sea of vapor that rose from the valley floor and...

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