The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-21 16:24:13 -

The banquet hall smelled of roasted pheasant and old stone, a thick, cloying perfume that hung in the air like a shroud. We sat at a long table carved from single pieces of oak, the wood dark with varnish and the sweat of centuries. To my left sat Elias, my second-in-command, his hands trembling slightly as he poured wine into a crystal goblet. The liquid was the color of dried blood, swirling...

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