The Golden Harbor
The rain does not fall so much as it settles, a grey, industrial mist that clings to the soot-blackened bricks of the Whitmore estate, obscuring the horizon where the old world ended and the new, jagged reality began. You are standing in the library, your fingers tracing the spine of a leather-bound volume that has no title, only a date etched into the calfskin in a hand that trembled with a...
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