The Faded Guest
The coat was heavy. It smelled of wet wool and old iron. I found it draped over the back of a high-backed oak chair in the center of the great hall. The fabric was black, but it had faded to the color of deep bruise, a dark purple that seemed to pulse in the candlelight. It was a man’s coat. It was mine. Or at least, it belonged to the man who had worn it before me. I am a soldier. I have been...
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