The Golden Mirror
The silence in the basement of the St. Jude’s Orphanage was not an absence of sound, but a heavy, breathing thing, thick with the smell of damp plaster and old wool. Elara, who was only eleven but carried the weight of years her peers had not yet earned, stood before the large, warped mirror that dominated the far wall. It was an antique, its frame carved with vines that seemed to twist and...
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