The Wistful Ashes
The coat was already fraying at the seams when Arthur Vance first realized that the fabric was not merely wool, but a living membrane of his own fading sanity, a realization that came not as a sudden epiphany but as a slow, suffocating tide of recognition that rose to meet him while he was standing in the middle of the crowded, rain-slicked intersection of 5th and Main, arguing with a...
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