The Wistful Crossroads
The coat was heavy. Wool. Grey. It smelled of dust and old smoke. "Button it," said Elias. He stood by the door. His hands were still. His face was stone. Eli looked down. The buttons were brass. They were worn smooth. The last one was missing. The hole gaped like a small, dark mouth. "I can't," Eli said. "It's loose." "Button it," Elias repeated. Eli reached up. His fingers were clumsy. He...
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