The Wistful Ashes
The dampness in the Ashwood estate had long since ceased to be a mere atmospheric condition and had become a substantive presence, a black, viscous soot that wept from the plaster walls and settled into the grain of the oak floors. I woke in my small, cold room on the second floor, the air thick with the scent of burnt paper and old iron, and saw that the soot had formed a distinct, though...
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