The Wistful Voyage
The velvet had worn thin at the elbows. Miles stood before the mirror. The glass was cracked, a spiderweb fracture running from the top left corner down to his reflection’s chest. He ignored it. He focused on the coat. It was midnight blue, once. Now it was a bruised purple, faded by decades of sunlight and smoke. The buttons were gone. Two holes gaped like missing teeth. He looked at his...
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