The Golden Cellar
The air in the cellar tastes like iron. You are breathing hard. Your lungs burn. The torch in your hand flickers, casting long, dancing shadows against the damp stone. You are a thief. You know this. You have been a thief for years. Your fingers are stained with the grime of other people’s secrets. You are here for the gold. That is the story you tell yourself. That is the lie that keeps your...
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