The Golden Mirror
The rain had been falling for three days, a cold, grey sheet that turned the cobblestones of Oakhaven into a slick, treacherous mirror. You stood at the edge of the platform, your coat soaked through, the water dripping from the brim of your hat in a steady, rhythmic tick that sounded too much like a clock counting down to something you couldn’t name. The train, the 8:15 to London, was a sleek,...
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