The Pale Dance
The coat was too big. That was the first thing he noticed. The wool hung heavy on his shoulders, pooling at his waist like water. It was a deep, bruised purple. It smelled of lavender and old dust. It was not his. He stood in the center of the white room. The floor was marble. Cold. He looked down. The sleeves covered his hands. He pulled them back. He felt exposed. This was the House. Or what...
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