The Wistful Ashes
You hold the cup. It is warm. It is not coffee. Look at it. Look at your hands. They are yours. They are not. The walls of the office are white. The light is white. The air tastes of ozone and old paper. You are seated at a desk. The desk is wood. The wood is real. Or it feels real. "Did you drink it?" The voice comes from the chair across the table. It is a man. He is wearing a suit. The suit...
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