The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-23 16:00:33 -

The steam rose in thick, white columns, curling around the iron pipes of the workshop until Elias Thorne could no longer distinguish the floor from the ceiling. He was four feet from the source, yet the heat pressed against his skin like a damp towel, smelling of sulfur and old copper. In the dream, which had become as real as the iron grating under his boots, his father stood in the mist. The...

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