The Golden Mirror
The dream began, as it always did, with the sound of grinding stone, a low, tectonic moan that vibrated in the marrow of Elara’s bones before she even opened her eyes, and in the dim, pre-dawn light of her small chamber in the Archivum, she saw the mirror. It was not the polished silver of her vanity, nor the warped bronze of the market square, but a slab of gold so pure it seemed to pulse with...
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