The Golden Harbor
The fog rolled in from the harbor, a thick, sulfurous shroud that tasted of coal dust and rotting kelp, swallowing the jagged silhouette of Blackwood Manor until only the highest spire remained visible, a needle piercing the gray belly of the sky. It was the year 1893, and the industrial heart of the valley beat with a slow, arrhythmic throb, the smokestacks belching their poisonous breath into...
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