The Golden Cellar
The rain did not fall so much as it persisted, a grey, weeping veil that turned the cobblestones of the village square into a mirror of dull, fractured light, and it was beneath this unbroken curtain that old Elias Thorne stood, his shoulders hunched against the damp chill, waiting for a verdict that had already been cast in the minds of those who held the keys to the village’s history. He was...
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