The Golden Mirror
The rain hits the cobblestones outside the Keep with a sound like dry bones breaking. You stand in the center of the Great Hall, your armor cold against your skin, the metal slick with condensation and something darker. In your hands, you hold the Golden Mirror. It is not gold, not truly. It is a shard of polished obsidian so dark it seems to swallow the light of the tallow candles burning in...
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