The Wistful Ashes
The iron bars of the cell did not shiver, nor did the stone walls sweat with the damp breath of the earth. They remained fixed, immutable, and cold, a testament to a permanence that I had long since mistaken for truth. I sat on the straw, my hands resting on my knees, and I watched a single shaft of grey light pierce the high window, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the stagnant air....
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