Chronicles of Oswald Rabbit

Oswald stirred uneasily in his chair.  The  leather  sighed as he moved.  It was his favorite chair . A chair of Worn, soft leather quietly leaking its horsehair stuffing.

He reached over and cranked the Victrola.  Carefully he sat the needle down.  From the  golden Victrola horn  a  Paganini  violin concerto filled the room.  Soared to the high Gothic arches  created by  massive oak roots.  The room was in shadows.

The fireplace the only light.  Gilt lettering on leather-bound books reflected it back.

He rose  and stood before the dusty, foxed mirror.    Eyes  black as a raven’s wing looked back at him.  Then, and only then he lifted the coat from its layers of tissue paper.  A magnificent garment of crimson velvet.  Splashed with gold epaulettes.   Reaching inside the coat he felt for the small watch pocket.   Placing his watch in that pocket he could travel the world in an instant.   He felt  for a second deeper pocket.     This pocket was bottomless.    It would hold all he desired.   There was magic sewn into every stitch, every seam of this scarlet coat.

Oswald slipped into the coat.  He  faced the  mirror.  It reflected  a tall, intense,  young man clad in a gorgeous, crimson coat.    Oswald looked back into the  comfortable,  familiar  room.    Then Oswald, gentleman rabbit,  turned off his Victrola, said good-by to his burrow, put his watch in the magic pocket, and  stepped into the world above.

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