The Golden Cellar
The carriage wheels groaned against the frozen mud of the highland road, a sound that seemed to tear the silence of the twilight in two, and inside the vehicle, Sir Alaric Thorne sat with his back pressed rigidly against the velvet upholstery, his eyes fixed on a single, trembling point where the last light of the dying sun bled into the gray horizon. He was a man carved from stone and duty, a...
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