Cellar 13 Novels & Stories

"Monsieur! Arrêtez! Please!" While the chaos unfolded, Sebastian slipped a keycard from a distracted guard’s belt with the skill of a pickpocket. He signaled Harper. They slipped through the "Staff Only" door, pushing Catherine’s wheelchair into the shadows. [The Wine Cellar] Down. Down. Down. The air grew cold and damp. The smell of old oak barrels and vinegar filled the winding stone corridor. They reached the Bouteillerie (The Bottle Room). It was dark, lit only by flickering emergency lights. Massive barrels of wine lined the walls, some dating back to the 19th century, covered in cobwebs.

Xavier As we get closer, that feeling of familiarity returns, and for some reason, I know where to go. “We can enter from the left side.” We run towards the entrance, which is a tunnel that leads to the cellar sealed with an iron door. I’m sure I have never been here, but this doorway says differently. It feels like I’ve been here before sneaking in. I know it leads to the wine cellar, though, so I must have been here before. The noise dies down as we shift back to human and pull the door open. There is a loud bang, but they shouldn’t hear it unless they are in the cellar. The cellar is covered in dust and empty bottles, probably raided by local teenagers looking for a good time.

Chloe took his hand, her skin tingling at his touch, and allowed him to lead her away from the bustling restaurant. The wine cellar was tucked away in a quiet corner, accessed by a narrow, winding staircase that led them deep into the belly of the building. As they descended, the sounds of the restaurant faded away, replaced by the muffled drip of condensation and the faint rustling of paper labels. The air grew cooler and damper, heavy with the scent of earth and aged wine.

IRIS’S POV The wine cellar wasn’t just a room at this point, it was a silent, underground cathedral of glass, dust, and freezing condensation. It was a stark, bone-chilling contrast to the sweltering, perfume-choked heat of the masquerade ballroom three floors above.

Sebastian demanded, his voice low and tight. I scanned the console data, recognizing the layout from Cora’s description. "The access to Thorne is disguised. It's not a service elevator. It's a pressurized electronic door disguised as a wine cellar access hatch in the villa's formal dining room. The code is still active on the console: $9-4-1-3$." "Team One, proceed to the dining room. Access code $9-4-1-3$," Sebastian immediately relayed.

If one truly does not care for their life , they can still live it for others if they have someone worth living for , for most at least that is true . Jayden grabs Jace's wrist and drags him towards the cellar below his study room . " Dad please . " Jace says a little too loudly . " If someone tries to interrupt us because of you , they'll end up dead . Just listen to your father . " He growls and opens the cellar door , throwing him inside . He turns on the small bulb above , making his surroundings visible . There were 2 chaisr in the centre and 2 tables beside it , having 2 IV sets on top of them . From the back of the cellar , emerged a little girl who seemed to be around 10-12 years old

Kael, who was already holding the key to the door in his hand, fit the key into the lock and turned it. He pushed the door and stepped inside first, going on to switch the light in the cellar, the warm light filling the whole place, before Morvienne followed, closing the door behind her quietly. The wine cellar was longer than she had expected, low shelves ran along both walls, three rows high, and each shelf was divided into neat cubbies that held bottles on their sides. The bottles lay neck-out in orderly lines. Some had dark, dust-mottled glass, others clearer and labelled in gold and black with handwritten years and names that spoke of age and care.

The S‍ubterranean‌ Vault ‎The air in the w‌ine cellar was thick with t‍he scent of damp ear⁠th, ancient dust, and‍ th⁠e sharp t⁠ang of spilled cordit​e. The maze of brick arches and tow​ering racks of vintage bordeaux had been conver⁠ted i​nto a sub‌te‍rranea​n battlefiel‍d.‌

"Don't let the damp air inside." I slipped through the gap, and the heavy door thudded shut right behind me. The cellar was dimly lit by half-melted tallow candles stuck directly onto wooden shelves. The walls were stacked floor to ceiling with glass jars. Some were packed with dried roots and crushed grey leaves, others filled with murky liquids holding weird, floating things I didn't care to look at too closely. Maeve was standing behind her low wooden counter, wiping her yellow-stained fingers on a grease-spotted apron. She looked about eighty, with wild silver hair pinned up by a bone needle and a deeply wrinkled face.

The sweet scent of human food from the kitchen perturbed his nostrils he knew Lyra was making something for herself. He dropped his blunt in the ashtray, stomping it. He shrugged on a red robe before walking out of his room to the kitchen. There he found her, back turned away from the door, her phone pressed between her neck and her ear. She giggled excitedly into the phone and Marcellus couldn't help but lean against the door to study her. Her majestic hips stood out, beckoning him to touch. He folded his arms at his chest. He could hear giggles and the joyous voice of another woman on the end of the phone as they conversed about each other's day and a baby that had belonged to the other wo