The Golden Cellar
The rain does not stop. It has been falling for three days, a grey curtain that blurs the edges of the world and turns the cobblestones into slick mirrors reflecting the stone walls of the Abbey. You are not a prisoner in the traditional sense. There are no iron bars, no guards with halberds standing at your door. You are a keeper, a steward of the silence, a man who has traded his name for a...
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