The Golden Harbor
The cellar smelled of damp rot and the metallic tang of old blood, a scent that Elias had long since stopped distinguishing from his own breath. He dreamed of the golden harbor again, that impossible stretch of water where the tide did not recede but rose, swallowing the docks, the ships, and the men who stood upon them in a warm, viscous embrace. In the dream, the gold was not a color but a...
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