The Faded Attic
The rain fell in sheets of grey. Caleb walked. His boots were heavy. Leather. Stiff. The mud sucked at them. Each step was a struggle. The air tasted of iron. Of old blood. Of ozone. He carried no sword. He carried a coat. It was a long coat. Black wool. Torn at the hem. It hung from his shoulders like a shroud. It was heavy with water. And with memory. He was a warrior. Or so the world said....
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