The Golden Mirror
He woke with the taste of iron and old dust in his mouth, the dream still clinging to him like a wet wool cloak that refused to dry, a viscous memory of a room where the walls breathed and the shadows had teeth, a place that was not a place but a feeling of being watched by something ancient and hungry that lived in the cracks of the plaster and the hollows of the floorboards, and he knew, with...
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