The Golden Harbor
The rain did not fall so much as it descended, a thick, grey curtain that swallowed the spires of Blackwood Manor in a breath, blurring the boundary between the stone and the sky until the world was nothing but a wet, weeping void, and in the heart of that void, in a room where the air tasted of damp wool and old iron, Elias Thorne sat before the object that had consumed his mind, his hands...
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