The Golden Cellar
The leather-bound ledger sat heavy in my hands, its spine cracked and stiff from decades of disuse, the wax seal on the cover bearing the impression of a generic state crest that I had seen a thousand times in the archives I managed for the last twenty years. The rain hammered against the shingle roof of the cellar above me, a relentless, rhythmic pounding that seemed to vibrate through the...
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