The Golden Mirror

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2026-08-21 16:51:33 -

The Golden Mirror

The banquet hall smelled of roasted pheasant and stale tobacco. It was a thick, cloying scent that clung to the wool of the coats and the polished mahogany tables. The Mayor, a man named Silas Vane with a jaw like a block of granite, stood at the head of the table, raising a glass of amber liquid. The room was warm, suffocatingly so, with the radiators hissing their low, rhythmic complaints....

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