The Wistful Ashes
The rain here does not fall. It is suspended. A gray, static curtain hangs over the valley, trapping the air in a thick, oily film. I am Elias. I am a man who remembers the weight of water, but I live in a world where it has become a ghost. I stand at the edge of the Sector. The fence is not wire. It is light. A shimmering, violet barrier that hums at a frequency I feel in my teeth. Beyond it...
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