The Wistful Ashes
The old stone gate stood open. It should not have been open. It was always shut. Locked tight with iron bands. The bands were cold. The stone was cold. The air inside was thick. It smelled of dust. And old paper. And sweat. Thomas stood on the other side. He was tall. He was thin. He wore a coat of grey wool. It was frayed at the cuffs. He did not look at the gate. He looked at the road behind...
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