The Wistful Mirror
The crack runs through the center of the Mirror-Glass like a vein of frozen lightning, a jagged scar that pulses with a faint, cold light as you hold it in your trembling hands. You are Elias, thirty-two years old, a scribe of the third rank in the high tower of the Iron Keep, and your fingers are stained not just with ink but with the sweat of a man who knows that the winter purge is three...
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