The Faded Frontier
The wool of my father’s greatcoat had long since surrendered its dignity, the once-navy blue faded to the color of a bruise that would not heal, the fibers matted and brittle like the bark of a tree struck by lightning, and I stood at the edge of the moor, feeling the wind tear at the fraying cuffs, knowing that the cold was not merely a physical sensation but a metaphysical weight that pressed...
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