The Golden Harbor
The fog did not roll in so much as it materialized, a thick, damp wool that strangled the harbor mouth and swallowed the lighthouse beam whole. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the pier, his boots sinking slightly into the wet, rotting planks. He had come to say goodbye to the sea, to the salt that had seeped into the fibers of his uniform until it became indistinguishable from his own sweat,...
0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 1 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр