The Golden Mirror
The fire started in the basement. It started in the dark, beneath the floorboards of the library, where the old pipes rusted and the air tasted of wet stone. You were not there. You were in the study, three floors up, holding a book that had not been opened in forty years. The smell reached you first. Smoke. Not the sharp, chemical bite of a gas leak, but the sweet, heavy perfume of burning...
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