The Wistful Ashes

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2026-08-20 06:44:48 -

The Wistful Ashes

The hand trembled. It was a fine, silver tremor, like the wing of a moth caught in a draft. Old Elias watched it with the quiet, unblinking attention of a man who had spent a lifetime watching storms gather over the moor. He did not flinch. He did not look away. In the high tower of the Ashworth manor, where the air tasted of candle wax and old stone, the hand was the only thing that mattered....

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