The Golden Myth
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that blurred the line between the stone walls of the monastery and the churning sea beyond, creating a world where the boundary between the solid and the liquid, the safe and the perilous, had dissolved into a singular, weeping expanse of slate and salt, and it was within this damp, suffocating silence that Arthur Penhaligon, a...
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