The Golden Cellar
The rain lashed against the high, leaded windows of the Hall, a rhythmic drumming that sounded like the beating of a thousand small, frantic hearts. I stood by the cold hearth, my hands trembling so violently that I could not light the candle. The wax had melted into a pale, sticky pool, a tomb for the wick. Outside, the world was dissolving into mist and grey stone, but inside, the air was...
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