The Golden Harbor
The ledger sat on the desk, its spine cracked and soft with damp, the pages yellowing like old teeth. I signed the requisition for the winter coal with a hand that trembled only slightly, a small betrayal of the forty-two years I had served in this place. Outside, the fog pressed against the high windows of Aethelgard, a thick, grey wool that muffled the sound of the sea below. I wanted to...
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