The Golden Cellar
The porcelain was cracked down the middle, a jagged scar running through the painted gold leaf. Elias Thorne held the shard in his left hand, the one that still worked, and turned it over to examine the glaze. It was a cellar door, or at least a piece of one. He had found it in the effects of Miller, who had died of a stroke three weeks prior, buried in a box under a pile of unpaid bills. Elias...
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