The Faded Apartment

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2026-08-22 09:38:10 -

The banquet hall of the St. Jude’s Infirmary smelled of boiled wool and stale lavender. It was not a feast of gold and silver, but a gathering of the weary, the hollow-eyed, and the those who had forgotten their own names. Margaret Holloway sat at the periphery, her posture rigid, a map of invisible lines etched into her skin. Before her lay a single object: a coat. It was a heavy thing, made...

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