The Wistful Mirror
The train shuddered to a halt in the grey mist of October 1912. Elara Vance stepped onto the platform of Blackwood Sanatorium, her leather case clutched tight against her chest. She was twenty-four, sharp-featured, and tired of being looked through as if she were glass. Her father’s name was in the mud. The charge was embezzlement. She had come to audit the ledger, to prove he had been framed,...
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