The Golden Mirror
The rain against the windowpane of the Whitmore estate was not a sound so much as a presence, a heavy, rhythmic pressure that seemed to seep through the glass and into the dry, brittle air of the study. Elias Thorne stood before the large, gilded mirror that hung on the north wall, his reflection staring back with the hollow, weary eyes of a man who had spent thirty years chasing ghosts in a...
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