The Wistful Asylum
The hairline fracture in the silvered glass of the ancestral mirror did not appear all at once, but rather crept across the surface of the Vane estate’s drawing room like a vein of frost spreading through winter ice, a subtle but undeniable disruption in the polished reflection of the room that Silas Vane, constable for twenty years and son of the law, noticed only when he lifted his hand to...
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