The Golden Mirror
The rain hammered against the high, narrow windows of the archive, a relentless drumming that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards and into the soles of your shoes. You stood before Silas’s desk, your hands trembling not from the cold but from the sheer, suffocating weight of the rejection he had just delivered. "You’re tired, Elias," he said, his voice thin and reedy, like dry leaves...
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