The Distant Garden
The coat was not merely a garment; it was a cage of velvet and gold thread, stitched by hands that had long since turned to dust in the crypts beneath the manor. I wore it because I had no choice, and because the weight of it against my shoulders was the only thing that kept me anchored to the earth while the wind howled through the broken windows of the Hall. My father, a man whose name was...
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