The Golden Mirror
The frost on the windowpane of the attic room did not melt, despite the coal fire roaring in the grate below. It formed intricate, crystalline lattices that trapped the dim light of the single candle, casting jagged shadows across the floor. Elias Thorne sat at his workbench, his hands wrapped in leather gloves worn thin at the knuckles, staring at the object before him. It was a mirror, but...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima