The Wistful Ashes

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2026-08-22 23:12:28 -

The Wistful Ashes

The commendation form lay on my desk, the paper thick and cream-colored, smelling faintly of the industrial bleach used in the Ministry’s supply closets. I signed it, my hand steady, the ink flowing in a dark, definitive line. I needed this. My daughter, Elara, was sixteen, and the Upper Tier entrance exams were in three months. Without the Senior Warden’s endorsement, she would be assigned to...

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