The Golden Echoes
The golden mirror had not spoken in three days, a silence that Elias Thorne found more terrifying than the whispers. He stood in the center of the drawing room of Blackwood Manor, his knuckles white around the frame, his breath hitching in a chest that felt too small for his body. At forty-five, he carried the weight of twenty years of service and one specific, rotting failure, and the mirror...
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