The Golden Harbor
The mist clings to the walls of the old watchtower with the tenacious, suffocating embrace of a lover who has forgotten how to let go, and you stand there, in the center of the rotting floorboards, feeling the dampness seep through your boots and into the marrow of your bones, a cold that has nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the fact that you have been holding this place...
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