The Faded Dust

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2026-08-22 12:58:31 -

The Faded Dust

The champagne tasted of ash and old copper, a metallic tang that coated the back of my throat as I stood amidst the roaring crowd of the Blackwood Ironworks centennial. It was the winter of 1912, and the air in the foundry was thick with the smoke of a hundred years of industry, a heavy, suffocating blanket that pressed against my lungs even as the workers cheered for the new year. I was...

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