The Wistful Ashes

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2026-08-20 07:40:55 -

The Wistful Ashes

The dream was not of darkness, but of a green so violent it seared the retina. Thomas stood in a forest that breathed, the air thick with the scent of damp loam and the sweet, rotting perfume of overripe pears. He was not walking, yet he moved forward, the underbrush parting around his legs like water. In the center of a clearing stood a single oak, its bark white as bone, its leaves black as...

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