The Golden Cellar

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2026-08-19 16:27:23 -

The Golden Cellar

The feast was loud. It was a roar of silver and wine. I sat at the end of the table. My place was small. My hands were still. Lord Ashworth sat at the head. He did not look at me. He cut his meat with a precision that was terrifying. The hall was stone. It was old. The air smelled of beeswax and sweat. I am a scribe. I record the wills of men. I record the debts of men. I do not record the...

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