The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-22 11:38:32 -

The coat is yours. Or rather, it is the only thing left that remembers who you were. The wool has thinned at the elbows, worn to a ghostly gray by the friction of a thousand hurried steps. It smells of damp brick and coal smoke, a scent that has seeped into the fibers until it is indistinguishable from your own breath. You are standing in the Grand Hall of the Whitmore Estate, and the air is...

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