The Wistful Ashes

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2026-08-20 11:33:43 -

The Wistful Ashes

The air in the Sanctum was not merely cold; it was a physical weight, a dense, gray fog that settled in your lungs and refused to leave, tasting of iron and stale incense. You sat on the cold stone floor, your back pressed against the rough-hewn wall, your hands bound tightly with strips of white linen that had been soaked in salt water. You were seven years old, or perhaps eight, but in the...

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