The Wistful Ashes
The train arrived in the city of Oakhaven with a sound that was not quite a screech, but a long, low exhalation of steam and rust, settling into the platform like a ghost finally finding its feet. I stood there with my suitcase, the leather handle cutting a white line into my palm, watching the doors slide open to reveal the gray, rain-slicked faces of the commuters, their eyes glazed over with...
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