Elara wandered for an hour. Each garment was a chapter, each placard a poem. A 1960s shift dress in psychedelic orange (“The Summer I Learned to Dance Alone”). A pair of battered combat boots (“Berlin, 1989 – The Wall Fell. So Did My Fear.”). A simple cashmere cardigan, mended a hundred times (“The Last Sweater Your Father Knitted Me. He Said Every Stitch Was a Kiss.”).
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