The Wistful Ashes
The coat was not merely a garment but a monument, a heavy, olive-drab canvas thing that had been worn so thin at the elbows and shoulders that it had become a second skin, a testament to the years of walking the gray, rain-slicked streets of the Sector, a relic from a time before the Silence fell, before the Ministry of Harmony had decided that the human voice was too chaotic, too prone to...
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