The Wistful Mirror
The seal on the ledger is cracking, a jagged line of red wax that looks like a vein burst under the skin, and you know with the cold certainty of a man who has spent three winters on the border that the Rot is already inside the paper, eating the words from the inside out. You are Elias Thorne, a border warden, and your left hand is no longer entirely yours; the fingers are stiff, the knuckles...
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