The Golden Harbor
I woke in the wet dark of the hold, the air thick with the smell of rotting fruit and old sweat, my hands still stained yellow from the turmeric I had been grinding all day, a dye that had worked its way so deeply into the whorls of my fingerprints that they looked less like skin and more like the topography of some ancient, forgotten map. The ship, a rusting hull of iron and hopelessness,...
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