The Golden Mirror

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2026-08-20 08:59:01 -

The Golden Mirror

The feast was a riot of amber light and the heavy, cloying scent of roasted pheasant, the air so thick with steam and conversation that it felt less like a dinner and more like a burial. Margaret Holloway sat at the head of the long oak table in the center of Blackwood’s Community Hall, her hands resting flat on the polished wood, feeling the chill seep through her fingertips. Around her, the...

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