Lancia harbour.
The brine-scented winds whip through the air, carrying the sharp tang of salt with every gust, like the sea itself exhaling in cold, rhythmic breaths. The waves churn restlessly, crashing against the shoreline, their frothy crests swelling like the nostrils of a great beast, heaving and sighing with the pulse of the ocean. The steady clopping of hooves on weathered wood echoes through the misty air, growing softer as the carousine slows to a halt, its rhythmic beat fading like a dying heartbeat. Solaris crouches, his fingers deftly refastening the worn laces of his boots, the leather creaking faintly with each tug. I shrug on my royal blue coat, feeling the cool, tailored fabric slip smoothly over my arms. The fresh scent of soap and lavender still clings to it from the laundress's careful work.
