The Golden Harbor
The iron bell rings. You count the strikes. One. Two. Three. The sound is a physical weight. It presses against the eardrums. The dining room is bright. Gaslight hisses in the brass fittings. Shadows dance on the wainscoting. They twist. They stretch. They reach for the table. You sit at the head. The chair is cold. Oak. Hard. Unforgiving. The family gathers. Father stands by the hearth. His...
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