The Wistful Petal
The coat hangs in the corner of the room, a garment of heavy, iridescent silk that has not been touched by human hands for forty years, yet it breathes, expanding and contracting with a slow, rhythmic pulse that matches the beating of your own heart, a resonance so profound and terrifying in its intimacy that it suggests you are not wearing the coat, but rather, the coat is wearing you, and...
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