The Golden Cellar
The chandelier above you does not sway, yet the light it casts seems to breathe, expanding and contracting like the lungs of a sleeping god. You are standing in the center of the Grand Hall, surrounded by the hum of three hundred voices, but the sound reaches your ears only as a dull, muffled roar, like blood rushing in your own head. The air is thick with the scent of roasted pheasant,...
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