The Wistful Ashes

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2026-08-20 04:03:56 -

The Wistful Ashes

The bone was in my hand. It was dry. It was white. I held it tight against my chest. The air in the cell smelled of damp stone and old fear. I was the Warden’s hand. I was the shield. I was the wall. But the wall was cracking. I looked at my fingers. They were red. They were raw. The bone did not bleed. It never bled. It just watched. It saw me. It knew me. I stood up. My legs shook. The chains...

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