The Golden Mirror
"The letter is here, Elara. It’s from the Magistrate." Mama’s voice was thin, stretched tight over the silence of the breakfast room, where the wallpaper peeled in long, damp strips along the corner. Elara did not look up from the table. She felt the weight of the paper before she touched it, a heavy, bureaucratic thing that smelled of ink and stale dust. She tore the envelope open with a...
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