The Wistful Ashes
The train hummed a low, vibrating note that I felt in my teeth rather than heard with my ears, a mechanical drone that seemed to swallow the silence of the carriage whole as we hurtled through the gray, rain-slicked countryside toward the capital, that monolithic heart of the state where the air tasted of ozone and old paper and where the Ministry of Nutrition held its sterile court above the...
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