The Golden Cellar
The house had waited for him, as it had waited for his father before him, and now it waited for the silence that would follow his departure. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the drawing room, the air thick with the scent of dried lavender and old dust, a perfume of stagnation that clung to the velvet drapes. He was a man carved from the same hard wood as the beams overhead, a captain in the...
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