The Golden Cellar

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2026-08-18 16:43:27 -

The Golden Cellar

The rain hit the slate roof. It sounded like bones breaking. I sat in the chair. The wood was cold. My hands were cold. I watched the water drip. One drop. Two drops. A pool formed. It reflected my face. The face was old. The face was mine. I did not move. I did not blink. The house held its breath. It always held its breath. The town below was gray. The stones were wet. The bells had stopped....

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