The Golden Mirror
The fire started at the edges of the tapestry, a slow, hungry orange that ate into the wool and the gold thread with a silence more terrifying than any scream. It was not a candle that had fallen, nor a careless spark from the hearth. It was, as the court later whispered, a malice made visible. The great hall of the Duke’s manor, a cathedral of stone and shadow, stood silent save for the...
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