The Golden Cellar
The banquet hall of the Oakhaven Ironworks smelled of roasted pork and stale beer, a thick, cloying scent that coated the back of your throat as you stood in the shadows near the service entrance. You were not invited to the table, but you were present, invisible as a stain on the floorboards, watching the men who owned your life raise their glasses in a toast to the future, while you clutched...
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