The Golden Harbor
The fog does not roll in; it descends, a heavy, wet wool blanket that suffocates the harbor of Saint-Valery, erasing the distinction between the water and the sky until the world is nothing but a gray, breathing void. You stand at the edge of the quay, your boots sinking slightly into the slick, barnacled wood, feeling the cold seep through the soles and into the bone, a chill that has nothing...
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