The Golden Mirror
The carriage jolted as it crested the final ridge, the wheels grinding against the ancient, moss-slicked cobblestones of a road that seemed to have been laid down in a century before memory itself began to fade. Margaret Holloway sat rigid in the corner of the velvet-lined seat, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that the knuckles had turned the color of old parchment, a silence that hung...
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