The Faded Dust

added blog Literature

2026-08-17 18:41:51 -

The Faded Dust

The hand was gone. I checked the mirror. The skin was smooth. Pale. Unmarked. My mother’s hand. She had given it to me three days ago. A gift. A key. I held the air where it used to be. The city hummed. Gaslight flickered. Steam rose from the grates. London in 1893 was a beast. It breathed smoke. It swallowed men. I am Elias. I am a ghost here. An immigrant. A shadow with a name. The factory...

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