The Golden Harbor
The blood was warm. It pooled in the hollow of his palm, a thick, dark ribbon that refused to dry. Seraphina stood in the center of the iron hall, her sword trembling in her grip. The air tasted of rust and old sweat. She did not know who she was. She only knew the weight of the steel. The weight of the sin. Her brother, Julian, lay at her feet. Or perhaps it was a mirror. The face beneath the...
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