The Golden Mirror
The fire that consumed the East Wing of the Blackwood estate did not roar or crackle with the violent malice of a forest blaze but rather hissed with the quiet, suffocating precision of a chemical reaction, eating through the centuries of varnish and oak until the structure groaned and folded in upon itself like a dying lung. Dr. Arthur Penhaligon stood on the gravel drive, his breath coming in...
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