The Wistful Mirror
The banquet hall in the ironworks of Saint Jude’s was not a place of warmth but of calculated brilliance, a vast cathedral of polished steel and gaslight where the air shimmered with the heat of furnaces that burned in the walls like captive suns, and here, amidst the clatter of silverware against porcelain and the low, buzzing hum of conversation that sounded suspiciously like the vibration of...
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