The Golden Cellar
The fire did not start in the hearth, as the elders of Oakhaven claimed in their hushed, trembling prayers, nor did it rise from the dry thatch of the barns, as the town crier shouted until his voice cracked and bled into the smoke. It started in the cellar, in the dark, damp belly of the world where the roots of the ancient oaks tangled with the bones of the dead and the vines of the black...
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