The Wistful Saga

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2026-08-17 17:54:48 -

The Wistful Saga

The wool coat hangs on the hook by the door, a heavy, charcoal-grey thing that smells of mothballs and the particular, dusty damp of the cellar where it has spent the last decade. You do not look at it. You cannot look at it. To look at it is to admit that it is still there, that it has survived the years, the fire, and your own slow erosion, waiting for a body that no longer fits the shape of...

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