The Wistful Mirror
The heat of the furnace is a living thing, a red-veined beast that breathes against your shins and sucks the moisture from your lungs, yet your hands are steady as you shape the molten glass, pulling the iridescent chalice into a form so perfect it seems to hum with its own internal light. You present it to Master Aldous, the guild’s final arbiter, and the silence that follows is not the...
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