The Golden Mirror
The ledger counted three hundred and twelve hours of silence since the last whisper, a tally kept in graphite on the back of a requisition form for ink. You, Elias Thorne, sat in the obsidian-hued archives of the Court of Aldous, your fingers stained black with the dust of centuries, trying to convince yourself that the weight in your chest was merely indigestion. You wanted to prove the Golden...
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