The Golden Cellar
The ledger lay open on the cold stone table, its pages swollen with the damp that always seeped up from the floor of the deepest vault, and Elias Thorne read the entry for the last time before the ink began to blur. It was a simple notation, a date and a quantity of wine lost to "spillage," but the handwriting was Julian’s, shaky and slanting, and the smell of rotting grape skin hung in the air...
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