The Golden Mirror
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, grey curtain that turned the cobblestones of the old city into slick, dark mirrors reflecting nothing but the hollow gaslight of the streetlamps, and I sat in the silence of the archive, my pen hovering over the leather-bound journal, the ink already blotted and dry from my trembling hand, knowing that if I did not write down the facts of...
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