The Golden Mirror
The table is set for twelve, but there are only two of us, and the air in the dining room hangs thick with the scent of roasted rosemary and the metallic tang of old blood. You are Major Elias Thorne, and you are sitting across from your sister, Clara, who is stirring a bowl of soup that has gone cold, the wooden spoon tapping a rhythmic, hollow beat against the ceramic rim. The chandelier...
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