The Golden Mirror

added blog Literature

2026-08-23 12:56:22 -

The Golden Mirror

The rain in Oakhaven did not fall; it hovered, a thick, grey mist that smelled of wet stone and old iron. You stood in the scribe’s study, the door locked behind you, the weight of the magistrate’s order heavy in your coat pocket. Magistrate Whitmore had spoken with the calm, finality of a man burying a dog. "Seal it, Thorne. Bury him. Spiritual hygiene is paramount." But you were a constable,...

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