The Pale Echo
The rain had been falling for three days, a relentless, grey curtain that turned the landscape into a blurred watercolor of mud and rust, and it was in this suffocating dampness that Elias Thorne found the coat. It was hanging on a wire strung between two dead oaks on the edge of the moor, a singular, impossible point of color in the desolation: a deep, arterial red wool overcoat, dry to the...
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