The Widow’s Cloak

At the house of a deceased friend. His wife offers me coffee, and asks me how much she can sell his magical robes for. I tell that she should keep them. They are imbued with his magical power. She is sad. She needs the money.

I try to explain that it wouldn’t fit anyone else, having been made for him bespoke.

She asks me to try it on.

I struggle with the sleeves a little. When it’s finally on I see that it is made of two materials. Looking in a mirror I see that my left side is covered with a tweed cloak, but my righthand side is black, with a golden yellow glow. This glow spreads to the right hand side of my face. The magic is too powerful for me. I feel intoxicated with it. I struggle to take it off. The widow helps me. She sees that I’m in shock, and rests the cloak over me. I tell her to remove it. The power is like an addiction.



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