The Golden Master
The glass is cracked. You can see it from the door, even before you step inside. A white spiderweb fracture runs from the bottom left corner to the top right, slicing the reflection of the room in two. It is a quiet afternoon. The light is thin and grey, filtering through the heavy curtains of the Victorian parlor. You hold the object in your hands. It is a small, ornate mirror, framed in...
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