The Golden Quest
The ink is wrong. Clara dropped the pen. It rolled across the mahogany desk, clicking against the brass paperweight, and came to a stop near the edge. She did not move to retrieve it. In the hallway, three feet away, the large oval mirror framed in dark oak showed her standing, hand outstretched, reaching for the pen that had not yet fallen. The image froze for a second, a ghostly lag in the...
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