The Golden Mirror
The bell tolled. Once. Twice. Marta wiped her hands on her apron. The stain was dark. It was not blood. It was ink. She had been writing the ledger. The ledger of the dead. The doors opened. Sir Aldous entered. He wore black. His face was pale. He held a cup of tea. The tea was hot. It steamed. He placed the cup on the table. He did not drink. He looked at Marta. His eyes were cold. They were...
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