The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-17 20:28:15 -

The coat was not merely worn; it was eroded. Margaret Holloway sat in the center of the empty chapel, her hands resting on the knees of the garment. It was a long thing, heavy with the weight of decades, its wool once a deep, aggressive crimson but now faded to the dull, bruised purple of a hematoma that refused to heal. The fabric had lost its weave, the threads unraveling into a fuzz that...

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