The Pale Letter
The town of Oakhaven celebrates the annual Founders’ Feast with a silence that is not peace, but a held breath. You stand in the center of the square, your hands clasped behind your back, feeling the friction of the wool coat against your skin. It is a heavy garment. A thick, charcoal grey overcoat, tailored to a cut that no longer exists in modern fashion shops. It has no buttons. It is held...
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