The Golden Mirror
"Don't open that door, Elias. Not yet. Not until you’re ready to lose everything." Vane’s voice was low, a rasp of gravel in a throat that had swallowed too much smoke. We stood in the antechamber of the Ministry of Finance, the air thick with the scent of old paper and the ozone tang of the Gilded Echo. It was 1912, and I had spent twenty years serving a crown that had quietly strangled my...
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