The Golden Cellar
The cellar door was heavy, iron-banded, and smelled of damp earth and old iron. Margaret Holloway stood before it in the gray light of a winter morning, her hands trembling not from the cold, but from the weight of what lay beneath. She had spent three years in the service of Lord Ashworth, a man whose wealth was built on the backs of those too poor to complain. The estate, Blackwood Manor, was...
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