The Golden Harbor
The air in the undercroft of Saint Jude’s Chapel did not merely smell of damp stone and ancient mortar; it tasted of the metallic tang of old blood and the sweet, cloying rot of lilies that had been crushed into the floorboards centuries ago, a scent so pervasive and thick that it seemed to have solidified into a visible haze, clinging to the skin of anyone who dared to breathe within its...
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