The Golden Mirror
"You’re holding it wrong," the girl said. Her voice was small, barely a whisper against the wind that howled through the broken window frames of the cottage. "You’re trying to break it. You have to let it hold you." I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, the knuckles white around the hilt of the silver sword that sat across my lap. The blade was not metal, but something like polished...
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