The Pale Banner
The coat is heavy on your shoulders, not because of the wool, which is thin and moth-eaten at the elbows, but because it is woven from the silence of the dead. You feel its weight in your knees, in the hollows of your eyes, a gravitational pull that drags you downward toward the soot-stained cobblestones of the city you have walked for what feels like days, though the sky above has remained a...
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