The Wistful Ashes
The hall was bright. Too bright. The light hummed. It pressed against the walls. It pressed against the skin. Everyone wore white. Smooth, unblemished white. No wrinkles. No stains. No history. Silas stood near the edge. He held a glass of water. The water was clear. He watched the dance. They moved in perfect circles. They smiled. The smiles were identical. They did not blink. They did not...
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