The Golden Cellar
The cold in the cellar did not sit upon you so much as it lived inside your marrow, a quiet, persistent ghost that had settled into the joints of your knees and the hollows of your ribs long before the dawn broke over the valley of St. Aldhelm’s. You sat on the damp stone floor, your back pressed against the rough-hewn wall where the mortar had crumbled away centuries ago, and you watched the...
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