The Golden Crossing
The iron key was not a key at all, but a seed of black glass that had grown into the shape of a mechanism. Elias held it in his palm, the metal cold and smooth as a river stone, and watched the rain tap against the high, vaulted windows of the cell. He was a prisoner of the Hollow, a vast, subterranean cathedral that existed somewhere between the floorboards of a Victorian manor and the bedrock...
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