The Golden Mirror
The ledger in Elara’s hand weighed as much as the guilt she had been carrying for three days, a heavy, leather-bound book of accounts that smelled of mildew and old iron, and she counted the entries with a finger that trembled not from cold but from the sheer, crushing weight of the arithmetic of her own damnation. It was the year 1348, and the plague had not yet reached the outer gates of the...
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