The Golden Cellar
The ledger book sat in your hands, its spine cracked and the leather cover slick with the damp that had seeped through the cellar floorboards all winter. You ran your thumb over the embossed initials of your grandfather, the ink long since faded to a ghostly brown, and felt the grit of dust under the nail. Outside, the wind tore at the shingles of the house, a sound like tearing canvas, but in...
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