The Golden Harbor
The carriage wheels grind against the frozen ruts of the moor, a sound like the teeth of a beast gnashing in its sleep, and you sit in the corner, your spine rigid against the velvet upholstery, your eyes fixed on the frosted window where the gray sky and the black earth have merged into a single, suffocating canvas of despair. You are not merely traveling; you are being exiled, driven out from...
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