The Faded Dust
The fire did not come from the hearth, nor from the lightning that split the oak above the ridge, but from the parchment itself, a sudden, violent ignition of ink and skin that consumed the only record of his innocence in a single, shrieking breath of orange light. Elias Thorne watched his life curl into ash, the edges blackening into brittle lace, while the wind howled through the broken...
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