The Golden Harbor
The fog does not roll into the village of Oakhaven so much as it settles, a heavy, wet wool blanket that smothers the cobblestones and the low-slung houses until the world is reduced to a gray, breathing void. You have lived here for thirty years, a tenure that feels both like a prison sentence and a sanctuary, and you have learned to read the moisture in the air the way a sailor reads the...
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