The Golden Mirror

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 12:53:41 -

The Golden Mirror

The dream was not of light, but of rust. It began in the cellar, beneath the rotting floorboards of the old estate, where the air tasted of iron and wet stone. I was standing before a mirror that had no frame, only a surface of tarnished bronze that wept a thin, red sap. My reflection did not move when I did. It stood rigid, its face a mask of such profound, silent accusation that I could not...

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