The Golden Mirror
The mirror lay in the mud, half-buried by the roots of a weeping willow, its surface a fractured constellation of dark glass. It was not a large thing, barely the size of a man’s forearm, yet it held a weight that seemed to drag the earth down into a deeper, colder silence. Thomas knelt in the wet grass, his knees sinking into the loam, and watched the reflection of the grey sky shatter and...
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