The Golden Mirror
The bell above the door did not ring. It hummed, a low, vibrating note that settled in the teeth. Elara stood in the center of the workshop, her fingers stained with indigo and rust. She was young, but her hands moved with the weary precision of a woman who had aged a hundred years in a single season. The room was filled with the scent of ozone and wet wool. Outside, the rain lashed against the...
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