The Golden Cellar
The rain did not fall. It hovered, suspended in the air like a fine, grey mist that tasted of iron and old paper. Julian stood at the edge of the cellar door, his hands trembling. He was a scholar of things that no longer existed, a man who had spent thirty years cataloging the ghosts of a bygone era. Now, the era had swallowed him whole. Behind him, the noise of the party was a distant,...
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