The Golden Farce
You are holding the mirror, and your hands are trembling so badly that the gold leaf flakes off into the dust. It is a small thing, this peeling, but it sounds like a crack in a bone. The library is silent, a heavy, dusty silence that presses against your eardrums, and the only light comes from the moon through the high, barred window. You have come here to find the ritual to break the curse,...
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