The Wistful Ashes
"You look like a ghost, Thomas." The voice belongs to Elias. He stands by the window, his back to me, hands clasped behind his spine. The glass reflects a face that is not mine. It is older. It is harder. The light in the room is grey and thin, filtering through the heavy curtains of the dormitory. It is the only room in the compound where the air does not smell of ozone and burnt plastic. I do...
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