The Golden Mirror
The carriage rattled over the cobblestones, a rhythmic percussion that seemed to vibrate through the bones of Elara Vance as she pressed her forehead against the cold, condensation-slicked glass of the compartment. Outside, the autumnal fog of London swallowed the city in a grey, suffocating embrace, blurring the distinction between the pavement and the sky, between the living and the dead. She...
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