The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-23 19:49:42 -

Elias. The name hung in the air of the scriptorium, sharp and cold as the November wind rattling the leaded panes. You looked up from the ledger. The ink was still wet, a black smear against the vellum. Lord Vane stood by the window. He did not look at you. He looked at the oak tree outside. Its roots were thick, pale, and brutal, cracking the stone foundation of the library. The tree was...

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