The Golden Harbor
The banquet hall smells of roasted goose and stale tobacco, a thick, cloying haze that hangs in the air like a shroud, trapping the heat of a hundred bodies and the suffocating weight of their collective silence in the corners where the gaslight flickers and dies. You are seated at the long oak table, your uniform pressed and immaculate, the brass buttons catching the dim, yellow light, a cold...
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