The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-20 14:31:00 -

The coat was blue. Not the blue of the sky, which was often grey and low. Not the blue of the sea, which was far away. It was a deep, indigo blue, the color of bruises, the color of old ink. It hung in the corner of the attic room. It did not move. The air in the attic was still. Dust motes danced in the single beam of light from the window. They did not settle. They floated, suspended in...

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