The Wistful Mirror
The warrant was pinned to the oak door with a rusted nail, its red wax seal cracked and weeping onto the floorboards. Silas Vane did not look at it; he was too busy wrapping his daughter’s shivering limbs in the last clean sheet they owned, his hands trembling not from fear but from the sheer, crushing weight of the wool. Elara coughed, a wet, rattling sound that seemed to scrape the air...
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