The Wistful Throne
The heavy wool coat hangs on the hook by the door, its deep burgundy velvet absorbing the grey afternoon light of the hallway, a dark anchor in the room’s pale indifference. You run your fingers over the silk lining, smooth and cool against your skin, tracing the seam where it was stitched with such care, such intimate attention, that it feels less like a garment and more like a second skin...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews