The Golden Cellar
The rain in Oakhaven does not wash things clean; it only makes the grime slicker, turning the cobblestones into a mirror for the low, bruised sky that has hung over the town for the last three days. You are standing on the steps of the Magistrate’s office, your coat soaked through to the bone, the water running in dark rivulets down the front of your shirt, a cold weight that feels less like...
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