The Wistful Ashes
"You are late," the voice said. It was not a question. It was a fact, stated with the cold precision of a machine part being placed on an assembly line. You looked up. The woman stood in the doorway. She wore a grey dress, simple and stiff. Her face was pale. Her eyes were bright. "I am here," you said. "You are late." You checked your watch. It was the correct time. The second hand ticked....
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