The Golden Mirror
The parchment was brittle, its edges curling like dried skin under Elias Thorne’s thumb. He read the Guild’s notice twice, the ink smudged where the seal had pressed too hard. The debt was due by the winter solstice. Three hundred marks. A sum his late brother, the Master Alchemist, had owed to the Guild for the privilege of practicing his trade. Elias was an archivist, a keeper of dust and...
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