The Wistful Ashes
The pen hovered over the paper, the nib trembling not from cold but from the weight of the words I was about to force into existence. I was writing to the Ministry of Purity, Sector Four, regarding the detention of my brother, Julian. The ink was black, thick, and hot to the touch, a sludge that promised pain if I lied about my loyalty. My hand was steady. The warden, a man named Halloway with...
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