The Wistful Witness
You carry the weight of the grey wool coat on your shoulders, though it is no longer yours to wear, and the air in the corridor tastes of dust and old paper, a scent that seems to settle into the pores of your skin as you walk toward the high, arched windows of the palace. The light filtering through the stained glass is not the bright, honest light of the outside world, but a fractured,...
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