The Golden Cellar
The dream began, as it always did, with the smell of wet limestone and old paper. Thomas Ashworth woke not with a jolt, but with a slow, viscous sinking sensation, as if his bones were dissolving into the mattress. He was in the cellar. It was not the cellar of his home in suburban Ohio, with its damp concrete floor and the humming of the water heater, but a vast, subterranean cathedral of...
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