The Golden Cellar
The rain hammered against the windowpane, a relentless drumming that seemed to vibrate through the very bones of the house. Elias Thorne stood in the doorway of his study, watching the water trace jagged paths down the glass, his reflection a distorted ghost behind the droplets. He held the letter from the hospital in one hand and the council’s denial in the other, the two documents weighing...
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