The Faded Attic
The light in the shop was the color of old bone, thin and pale, slanting through the high windows that looked out onto the cobbled street of Oakhaven. Elias Thorne stood at his workbench, the needle suspended in the air, his hand trembling slightly as he watched the magenta silk bleed a dark, rust-colored stain across the chest of the coat. It was a fine piece of work, a double-breasted cut for...
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