The Golden Mirror
The dust in the hallway of the Ashworth estate did not merely settle; it hung suspended in the air, a golden particulate that seemed to feed on the stagnant silence of the Victorian drawing room. I was on my knees, my boots caked in the red clay of the moors, my hands trembling not from cold, but from the violent, crushing weight of the truth that was only now beginning to coalesce in the...
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