The Faded Root
The fire took the orchard. You watched from the ridge. The flames were high. They ate the apple trees. The roots turned to ash. You held your breath. The smoke stung your eyes. You did not blink. This was your fault. Or so they said. The magistrate sat in his chair. He was fat. His wig was white. He smelled of lavender and rot. He looked at you. You looked at the floor. The floor was stone....
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