The Golden Mirror
The glass in the windowpane has a specific kind of shiver to it, a tremor that you feel not in your eyes but in the marrow of your teeth, a vibration that has been accumulating in the stone walls of the Blackthorn Archive for three hundred years. You stand in the center of the reading room, the air thick with the scent of decaying vellum and the metallic tang of old dust, your fingers hovering...
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