The Golden Mirror
Thorne. The name hung in the air, sharp as a blade, called out by Silas Vane across the gilded chandelier of Blackwood Manor. Elias Thorne did not turn. He stood before the great oak-paneled wall, his back to the room, his hands resting on the cold brass of the doorframe. The ballroom was full of laughter, the clink of crystal, the rustle of silk, but to Thorne, it was a roar of static. He was...
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