What the Dust Could Not Bury

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2026-06-27 02:08:17 -

The dust came first, as it always did. It came through the cracks around the window frame, fine as flour, grey as old newspaper, and it settled on the sill in a ridge two fingers thick. By morning the ridge was three. The broom stood in the corner with its bristles worn flat on one side from a thousand mornings of sweeping that changed nothing. The dust returned before the broom was hung back...

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