The Golden Mirror
The city of Aethelgard did not sleep, but it did not wake either; it existed in a perpetual state of twilight, a bruised purple hour that stretched endlessly across the cobblestones and the high, windowless facades of the magistrate’s district. You are standing in the center of the square, the rain slicking your hair back from your forehead, and the object in your hands is no longer a mirror....
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