The Golden Mirror
The brass frame of the mirror, once polished to a mirror-bright sheen that could cut glass with its own reflected light, now wore the dull, sickly patina of neglect, its corners chipped and its surface clouded by a film of grime that no amount of vigorous rubbing with a dry rag could seem to dislodge, standing there in the corner of the cramped, damp cellar like a silent, accusing judge...
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