The Wistful Mirror
The coat is still on the back of the chair. It is a heavy thing, woolen and dark, smelling faintly of lavender and old dust. You have worn it every day for thirty years. It is your father’s coat. It is your armor. It is the only thing that keeps the world from spilling into you. You are a detective now. Or rather, you are the investigator of the town’s quiet sorrows. In Millhaven, a place where...
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