The Golden Cellar
The dream was always the same, a suffocating weight of black water pressing against Elias Thorne’s lungs, the taste of silt and rot thick on his tongue, until he woke with a gasp that tore through the silence of the cellar like a scream. He lay on the straw mat, his joints aching with the damp cold that seeped up from the stone floor, his body heavy with the exhaustion of a man who had spent...
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