The Golden Harbor
You wake with the taste of copper and old iron in your mouth, a metallic tang that clings to the roof of your teeth like a rusted nail, and the first thing you see, before the sterile white ceiling of the observation ward resolves into focus, is the bracelet, the heavy, tarnished gold cuff that sits on your left wrist as if it has grown there, fused to your flesh by some slow, creeping alchemy...
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