The Golden Cellar
The air in the cellar tasted of wet stone and old pennies. It was a smell that stuck to the back of the teeth, metallic and cold. Leo held the jar tightly against his chest. The glass was thin, translucent, trembling in his small hands. Inside, a single beetle moved. Its shell was black, iridescent, breaking the light into jagged shards. It was beautiful. It was dead. "Put it down, Leo," his...
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