The Golden Cellar
The feast in the town hall was a spectacle of wool and wax, the air thick with the scent of roasted pork and the damp, earthy breath of the cellar below. You sat at the end of the long table, your constable’s tunic stiff with dust, listening to the laughter of the elders who treated you as a curiosity rather than a colleague. Your want was simple, yet it had consumed your every waking hour for...
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