The Wistful Mirror
The tower stood at the edge of the moor, a singular stone finger pointing accusingly at the bruised sky, and within its highest chamber, where the wind howled like a dying beast, Elias Thorne waited for the dawn that promised nothing but the continuation of his service. He was the Keeper of the Threshold, a title bestowed upon him by the Abbots who had ruled this isolated sanctuary for three...
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