The Golden Cellar
You stand in the center of the atrium, the air thick with the scent of roasted pheasant, spiced wine, and the faint, metallic tang of anxiety that clings to the skin of every person in the room. It is a Tuesday evening, or perhaps a Wednesday, the days having blurred into a single, glistening continuum of obligation and performance, and you are wearing a dress of midnight blue silk that feels...
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