The Golden Mirror
The name hits the back of your skull before it resolves into sound. "Elias." Dr. Aris’s voice is dry, like paper rubbing against a desk. You turn from the filing cabinet. The air in the archive is thick with the smell of old glue and damp wool, a cold that settles in your joints no matter how high you turn the radiator. You want to leave. You want to walk out into the November rain and not look...
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