The Golden Mirror
The stone of the well was broken, a jagged mouth of earth and fractured granite where the water had once been clear. I stood before the ruin, my hands trembling not from the cold of the November morning but from the weight of the glass vial in my right palm. Inside, the liquid pulsed with a faint, rhythmic gold, a heartbeat that matched my own, though mine was faster, frayed by three days of...
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