The Golden Visit
You wake with the taste of iron in your mouth, a metallic tang that coats the back of your throat like old blood. The cell is damp. The stone walls are weeping with condensation, dripping onto the cold floor in a rhythm that sounds suspiciously like a slow, arrhythmic heartbeat. You are in the Undercroft, the lowest level of the Ashworth Institute for the Preservation of Ancient Texts. It is a...
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