The Golden Harbor
The sea takes the first. It takes the light. It takes the name. I watch the water from the high stone wall. It is black. It is cold. It is patient. I am Captain Elias Thorne. I have stood here for forty years. My knees crack like dry twigs. My hands shake. They are not the hands of a man. They are the hands of a ghost. I am old. The years have eaten me. They have taken my strength. They have...
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