The Wistful Crossroads
The needle pierced the shadow-silk with a sound like a bone snapping. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two, and I have spent the last nineteen hours stitching the Void Coat for the Mayor of Oren. The fabric is not woven from thread, but from compressed silence, a material that drinks the warmth of the living and leaves only the shape of obedience behind. My hands trembled, not from the cold that seeps...
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