The Faded Dust

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2026-08-20 20:48:37 -

The Faded Dust

The wool of my father’s cloak had not rotted, though it had hung in the attic for forty years, stiffened by the damp of a house that no longer existed. It was a heavy thing, a deep, muddied green that had faded to the color of sea foam and old moss, and when I held it up, the air in the room seemed to thicken, pulling at my lungs with a gentle, persistent suction. I am a clerk in a small office...

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