The Golden Mirror

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 09:19:35 -

The Golden Mirror

The train hissed. Steam curled. It smelled of wet wool and coal. Arthur stood at the window. His reflection stared back. It was not his face. It was a mask. Pale. Thin. The eyes were hollow pits. He touched the glass. The cold bit his skin. He pulled his hand away. The mask remained. He was a man of glass. Specifically, of lenses. He made them. He ground them. He polished them. They were for...

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