The Wistful Ashes
The tremor in Elias’s left hand was a betrayal he could not ignore, a fine, rapid vibration that made the pen jump across the page of his journal. He was fifty-two years old, an archivist in the grey, unremarkable town of Oakhaven, and for the first time in his life, his body felt like a machine stripped of its oil. Three days ago, the municipal incinerator had consumed the last of Clara’s...
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