The Wistful Ashes
The Ash was eating the corner of the room. It moved with the slow, deliberate patience of rust, flaking off the plaster and drifting down toward the floor in gray, silent spirals. Director Halloway stood by the window, his back to me, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched the destruction of the Ministry’s interior. He did not turn around when I spoke. I had been standing there for...
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