The Wistful Ashes

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 17:26:48 -

The Wistful Ashes

The fire started in the pantry. It ate the sugar, the flour, the jars of preserved fruit. It ate the silence. Margaret stood in the corridor. She watched the orange tongue lick the doorframe. Her hand trembled. She held the vial. It was cold glass. It was heavy. The House of the White Tower was not a home. It was a machine. It was a clock. It ticked in the walls. The steam pipes groaned. The...

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