The Silent Cape
The fog did not merely surround the island; it owned it. At the edge of the world, where the Atlantic dissolved into a grey void, lay the Silent Cape. Julian stood on the jagged basalt cliffs, his coat whipping in a wind that tasted of salt and old sorrows. He was a man of words, a poet whose verses had once echoed in the salons of London, but here, words were useless. The only language spoken...
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