The Distant Summer
The coat was blue. Not navy, not indigo, but a bright, aggressive azure that seemed to vibrate against the grey brick of the asylum’s intake wing. Elara held it in her hands, feeling the weight of the wool, the stiffness of the collar. It was her mother’s coat. The last thing she had packed before the train took her from the border town, before the sirens started screaming in the valley below....
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