The Golden Harbor
The brass frame of the Golden Mirror sat in the basement of St. Jude’s Asylum, humming with a low, metallic vibration that Elara could feel in her teeth. She was thirty-two, a junior archivist with ink-stained fingers and a permanent position that felt like sand slipping through her grasp. The winter audit was three weeks away, and if the ledger discrepancies were not resolved, she would be the...
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