The Golden Harbor
October 12, 1893 The fog here does not merely obscure; it devours, a thick, wet wool that presses against the glass of my carriage window until I can no longer distinguish the sea from the sky, only the grey void that swallows the world whole. I am Dr. Elias Thorne, a man who has spent his life dissecting the architecture of disease, yet I find myself trembling in the back of this horse-drawn...
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