The Distant Journey
The velvet lining of the coat had begun to fray at the elbows, a slow unraveling that mirrored the decay of your own lungs, a textile map of your decline stitched into the fabric of your daily existence. You sat in the high-backed chair of the library, the room steeped in the dust of centuries and the faint, metallic scent of old blood that seemed to permeate the very plaster of the walls,...
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