The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-21 19:36:53 -

The banquet hall smelled of wet wool and coal dust. It was a grand affair for the textile mills, a rare night where the workers were allowed to drink without fear of the foreman’s stick. I sat in the corner, my coat buttoned to the chin. The coat was blue. It had belonged to Thomas. Or rather, it had been made for Thomas, but I wore it now. The fabric was rough against my neck. I did not move....

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