The Wistful Ashes
The train slowed with a groan of metal that sounded less like machinery and more like a dying animal, settling into the station of Oakhaven with a final, shuddering stop. I stepped onto the platform, my suitcase light in my hands, though the weight of what I carried in my mind was sufficient to crush me. The air here was thick, suspended in a gray haze that clung to the cobblestones and the...
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