The Golden Mirror
What does a daughter owe a father who has forgotten her name? Elvira Barone asked the question to the empty air of the mill floor, where the looms had been stopped for three days. The silence was heavy, a physical weight that pressed against her eardrums. She was thirty-two years old, and she had come to the palace gates of Aethelgard, which sat atop the Sicilian hill towns like a crown of...
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