The Distant Promise
The fog rolls in off the harbor before the bell tolls. You stand at the edge of the quay, the stone slick under your boots. The city of Blackwood rises behind you, a tangle of slate and shadow, indifferent to the tide that is coming in. You are leaving. Not for a man. Not for a fortune. You are leaving because the walls are breathing. It has been three years since the Council declared the...
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