The Golden Mirror
The banquet hall of the Ashworth estate smelled of roasted lamb and old dust, a scent that clung to the throat like a physical weight. It was a house built for permanence, constructed of limestone that had weathered into a soft, grey patience, yet tonight it vibrated with a low-frequency hum that Elias Vane could feel in his teeth. He sat at the head of the long oak table, his hands resting...
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