The Golden Harbor
The banquet hall of the Ashworth Estate smelled of roasted pheasant and old money, a scent that had seeped into the velvet drapes and the very bones of the Victorian manor. I stood by the silver candelabra, holding a crystal goblet that felt heavier than it had any right to be, watching the guests drift through the chandeliers’ fractured light like moths caught in a slow, golden trap. It was...
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