The Golden Cellar
You wake with the taste of copper and old dust in your mouth, the dream still clinging to your skin like a wet shroud. In the vision, you are holding a small, golden key. It is warm, heavier than it should be, and it fits into a lock that you know, with a certainty that borders on instinct, exists in the world. You are not in your bedroom in the grey, rain-slicked streets of London. You are in...
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