The Wistful Mirror
The ledger in my hand weighed three pounds, its leather cover cracked and stiff with the dust of the attic where I had found it, and I counted the entries three times before I dared to look up at the man sitting by the fire. Lord Ashworth, my former mentor, was seventy years old and looked like a man who had been slowly erased by the coal smoke that hung thick in the air of his crumbling...
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