The Wistful Ashes
"I told you, the lock is jammed." Bastiaan Schouten stared at the rusted barrel of the bird gun resting against the damp brick wall, its surface pitted with years of neglect and the salt air of the polder. It was a useless thing now, a heavy iron weight that served no purpose other than to remind him of the time before the water rose, before the Ministry of Memory had sealed the archives and...
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