The Golden Harbor
The champagne is warm. It tastes of copper and old dust. You are standing in the center of the ballroom, the chandelier above you a cage of crystal and light, holding a card. It is small. It is heavy. It is the only thing in this room that feels real. The air is thick with perfume and the low hum of three hundred people pretending to be alive. You look down at the card in your hand. The ink is...
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