The Wistful Asylum
The fire took the roof first. Mara watched the sky turn black. Not night black. Ash black. Thick. Heavy. It settled in her throat. It coated her tongue. She coughed. The sound was dry. A rattle in the chest. The village was gone. Or it was burning. Hard to tell the difference now. The houses were just shapes. Dark shapes against the red glow. The heat was a wall. It pushed against her skin. It...
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