The Wistful Mirror
The rotting beams of the foyer groaned under the weight of a silence that had grown teeth over the last decade, and Elara Vane stood in the center of the peeling parquet, her fingers tracing the hairline fracture in the grand mirror that dominated the far wall. She was forty-two, though the hollows beneath her eyes made her look a decade older, and she held the original deed to the estate in a...
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