The Faded Photograph
I I was elbow-deep in the wool of a red coat when the static hit, a low, persistent hum that vibrated against my teeth and turned the air in the cellar into something thick and electric. The garment was heavy, the fabric coarse and dark with age, and it absorbed the dim light of the repository until the corner of the room seemed to cave inward. I had been cataloging the Silent Wardrobe for...
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