The Golden Harbor
The fog rolled in from the harbor, thick and grey as wet wool, swallowing the cobblestones of Harrowgate. It was a city of iron and coal, where the air tasted of rust and the sky was a bruise that never healed. In the center of the square stood the Lighthouse of St. Jude. It was not a lighthouse of light, but of shadow. Its stone was black, veined with gold that pulsed like a vein beneath pale...
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