The Wistful Mountain

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2026-08-20 08:21:28 -

The velvet coat was not merely a garment; it was a living thing, heavy with the scent of old orchids and iron. It hung in the alcove of the Grand Hall, swaying slightly in the draft that rose from the floor grates, where the stones hummed with a low, subterranean vibration. Margaret stood before it, her fingers hovering inches from the fabric, trembling not from cold, but from the sheer,...

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