The Wistful Ashes

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2026-08-18 10:35:50 -

The Wistful Ashes

The air in the Hall tasted of copper and stale smoke. It was thick. It was heavy. It pressed against the lungs. Thomas sat in the corner. He wore a suit of black wool. It was too tight. It had not been washed in weeks. Around him, the guests danced. They moved in slow circles. The music was a low drone. A cello. It bled into the floorboards. He watched his hands. They trembled. A small,...

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