The Wistful Ashes
The tower stood. It was a cage of stone. I stood inside. The wind screamed. It had no voice. It had only teeth. I held the jar. It was heavy. It was warm. The ash inside shifted. It whispered. I shook it. The sound was like dry leaves. Like bones breaking. I looked at the wall. The mortar was black. It was old. It was deep. I pressed my hand against it. The stone was cold. My skin was hot. The...
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