The Wistful Show

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2026-08-17 14:26:36 -

The Wistful Show

The cloak was heavy. It smelled of damp wool and old iron. I held it tight against my chest. The fabric was thick. It had frayed at the hem. The threads were loose. They hung like dead vines. I pulled the collar high. It scratched my neck. The scratch was good. It kept me awake. It kept me human. The house was silent. The silence was loud. It pressed against my eardrums. I stood in the hall....

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