The Golden Cellar
The air in the cellar tasted of wet slate and old, sweet rot. It was a heavy, cloying scent that clung to the back of my throat, a physical weight that made it hard to breathe without effort. I stood in the center of the room, the only light coming from the single, grimy bulb that dangled on a frayed wire above me. It hummed, a low, insect-like drone that seemed to vibrate in my teeth. Below...
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