The Golden Harbor
The bell of St. Jude’s did not ring; it cracked. A single, shattering shriek tore through the damp morning mist of the harbor district, followed by a silence so profound it felt heavy, pressing against the eardrums like deep water. I stood on the wet cobblestones of King’s Row, my breath hitching in the cold air, watching the great bronze tongue of the bell hang limp and broken against the iron...
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