The Golden Cellar
The cellar door groaned under the weight of Thomas’s hands, the iron hinges shrieking a sound that seemed to cut through the stale, heavy air of the workshop. He wiped his palms on his leather apron, the motion habitual, a small ritual of cleansing before he descended into the dark. The shop above was empty, the bells above the door still silent, the dust motes dancing in the single shaft of...
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