The Golden Harbor
The parchment lay flat on the oak table, its edges curling slightly in the damp air of the archive, and I traced the wax seal with a finger that had long since forgotten the sensation of warmth. It was a simple document, a list of names, but the ink used to write them was a deep, arterial red that seemed to pulse under the flickering candlelight. I had been an archivist in the Aurelian Court...
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