The Distant Promise
October 14, 1893. The mirror in my pocket is cold against my thigh, a jagged shard of glass no larger than a playing card. It was taken from the hallway of the old Vane house, the one my brother Arthur used to polish until it gleamed like ice. I have held it for three days, since the day they took him. I want to clear his name before the execution date. The opposing force is Magistrate...
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