The Golden Harbor
The banquet hall of the manor is a cavern of candlelight, the air thick with the scent of roasted pheasant and the heavy, cloying perfume of lilies that line the tables in silver vases. You sit at the far end, a shadow among the shadows, your fingers stained with the dark residue of the ink you used to transcribe the ledgers for Lord Ashworth’s estate. The music is a distant hum, a mechanical...
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