The Wistful Ashes
The soot in the air tastes of copper and old pennies, a metallic tang that coats the back of your throat and refuses to wash away. You are the Auditor of the Ash, a title that sounds grander than the grimy reality of your existence in the industrial sprawl of New Kettering. Your job is simple, brutal in its simplicity. You verify the purity of the combustion. You ensure that nothing burns but...
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