The Distant Affair
The rain does not fall so much as it hangs, a suspended curtain of grey water that blurs the boundary between the world of the living and the one just beyond the veil. You are alone in the study, the air thick with the scent of damp wool and the metallic tang of old blood, and in your hands you hold the coat. It is a heavy thing, tailored from a fabric so dark it seems to drink the light from...
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