The Golden Mirror

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2026-08-25 23:48:04 -

The Golden Mirror

Act I "You’re late, Wemyss, and you smell of the river mud." Malcolm Wemyss wiped his hands on his trousers, the fabric stiff with dried silt, and looked at the old man standing in the shadow of the caravanserai’s archway. The air in the square was heavy with wet stone and the faint, metallic tang of the dusting that had stopped the city’s work three days ago, a physical weight that settled in...

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