The Golden Crossing
You have been waiting for the rain to stop, but it has not stopped for thirty years, and you know this because the water does not drip from the eaves so much as it bleeds from the stone, a constant, reddish seepage that smells of iron and old blood, pooling in the grooves of the flagstones that lead up to the Blackwood Manor, the seat of the Governor who rules over the coastal district with a...
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