The Golden Cellar
The stone breathes, a slow, wet inhalation that pulls the air from your lungs before you can even think to draw it in, and you stand in the antechamber of the Golden Cellar, your fingers trembling as they hover over the cold iron of the final seal. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, a warden who has spent two decades listening to the whispers of the dead, but today the whispering is not in the...
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