The Golden Harbor
Miles dreamed of the water again. It was not the cold, grey Atlantic that lapped at the cliffs of Cornwall, but a thick, golden sludge that pooled in the cellar of his mind. He woke with the taste of rust on his tongue. The room was dark. A single candle burned on the bedside table, its flame trembling in a draft that had no source. He sat up. His hands were shaking. He looked at them. The...
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