The Golden Cellar
The cellar beneath the Whitmore estate was not merely a room but a throat, a damp and echoing maw that swallowed the light of the upper world and returned it only as a faint, sickly luminescence from the single gas lamp that hung by a fraying chain. Here, in the subterranean dark where the air tasted of iron and ancient rot, lived the thing they called the Gardener, though it had not touched...
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