The Golden Harbor
I woke with the taste of iron and wet slate on my tongue, the sensation so acute it felt as though I had been chewing on a nail left in the rain. The dream had not faded, but rather solidified around me like a heavy fog, a thick, gray wool that pressed against my eardrums and dampened the sounds of the waking world. I was standing in the basement of the old textile mill on the corner of Foundry...
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