The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-20 05:41:31 -

I dreamed of the coat. It hung on a hook in a house that had no doors, only walls that breathed like wet lungs. The wool was black, heavy, and smelled of ozone and old iron. In the dream, I reached for it. My fingers passed through the fabric. It was not cold. It was empty. I woke with the taste of rust on my tongue. The morning light in the mill town was gray and thin. It did not warm the...

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