The Golden Mirror
The water in the moat was black and still, a mirror that did not care if it was watched. I stood at the edge, the wet grass sucking at my boots, while the Inquisitor, Master Aldous Vane, stood ten paces back. He held his hat in his gloved hands, a gesture of false humility that I had seen a thousand times in the archives. I was Elias Thorne, Royal Archivist for twenty years, and I was about to...
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