The Wistful Ashes
The train does not move, yet you feel the vibration in your teeth, a low hum that has replaced the sound of your own pulse since you boarded. You are not alone in the carriage, but the other passengers are not quite human; they are figures of gray wool and silence, their faces smoothed over like wet clay, waiting for a destination that the schedule promises is imminent. You know this place. It...
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