The Golden Cellar
The air in the cellar of the old abbey was thick, a physical weight that pressed against your lungs and settled in the marrow of your bones, tasting of damp stone and the slow, sweet decay of centuries. You stood in the center of the circular room, the vaulted ceiling lost in a darkness so profound it seemed to have a texture, a velvet roughness that scraped against the mind. Your hands, those...
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