The Golden Circuit
The mirror was not a window. It was a trap. Elara stood before it, her hands trembling as she brushed the dust from the silver frame. The glass was cold. It held a reflection that did not move when she moved. It watched her with eyes of black glass. She had come to the Archive to find her mother. She had come to prove that the old stories were lies. She was wrong. The building stood on the...
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