The Golden Harbor
The solstice banquet was a farce of forced merriment, the kind of hollow celebration that passes for joy in a place where the wind howls like a dying animal. I sat at the head of the table, my hands steady on the silverware, while the other faculty members of the Blackwood Institute exchanged pleasantries that felt thin as paper. My theory on tidal resonance was nearly complete, the data crisp...
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