The Faded Ruin
The wool of your father’s coat has turned the color of dried blood, a rust that seeps into the fibers and refuses to wash out, and you wear it because the cold in this palace is not merely a temperature but a physical weight that presses against your ribs, a constant, suffocating reminder that you are an outsider in a house built on stone and secrets. You are Eleanor, the daughter of a man who...
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