The Golden Cellar
The mill burned down on a Tuesday. That is the only fact that matters. Before the smoke, we had the flour. After the smoke, we had the ash. I stood on the hill, watching the black column twist into the grey sky, and I felt a strange, cold calm settle in my chest. It was not relief. It was the weight of a stone dropped into a well, sinking before I heard the splash. My name is Elias Thorne. I am...
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