The Golden Harbor
The carriage wheels ground against the cobblestones of Blackwood Lane, a sound like bone snapping under pressure, and you step down into the damp November air of 1893. The fog is thick, a white curtain that swallows the manor house behind you, erasing the silhouette of the place where you have spent twenty years rotting in silence. You are Arthur Vane, an architect who has not drawn a line in...
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