The Golden Cellar
The air in the cellar tasted of wet clay and old iron, a scent that clung to the back of Saad Malik’s throat like a physical weight. He sat on a stool that wobbled slightly, his back pressed against the cold stone wall, the flickering light of a single oil lamp casting long, trembling shadows across the pages before him. The manuscript, known locally as the Golden Cellar, lay open on a wooden...
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