The Wistful Cipher
The fire did not begin with a spark, but with a scream, a high, thin note that tore through the twilight of the valley like a blade drawn across silk, and by the time the smoke had fully bloomed into the bruised purple sky, the great mill at the edge of the black pine forest was already a skeleton of burning timber, its very bones snapping and crackling as the heat turned the air into a solid,...
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