The Golden Cellar
Go, boy. The door is open. The air in the cellar was thick with the smell of rot and beeswax, a cloying, sweet rot that coated the back of Elias’s throat as he watched his father’s chest rise for the last time. He was twelve, small for his age, with hands that shook not from the cold but from the terrifying weight of the vial in his pocket. The vial contained golden honey, the only thing in the...
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