The Wistful Saga
The old coat hung from the back of a wooden chair, its wool thick and dark as a bruise that would not fade. Elias Thorne stood before it, his hands trembling not from cold, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the silence that had settled over the shop. He was a tailor, a man who understood the architecture of a human frame, the way a shoulder slumped under the burden of debt, or how a jaw...
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