The Wistful Letter

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2026-08-20 08:57:18 -

The coat is too big. It swallows you whole, the wool heavy and damp with the city’s breath. You are standing in the alley behind the textile mill, the rain slicking the cobblestones into black mirrors. The fabric is a deep, bruised purple. It used to be black, before the dye bled. Before the stain. Before you realized it was not just a coat. It was a skin. You are an ordinary clerk. You count...

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