The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-25 02:36:42 -

The Faded Bouquet

The sleet had been falling for three days, turning the path to the coal tipple into a slide of mud and broken ice. I remember the weight of the ledger in my hands, forty-two of the Amber Stair etched into the spine of the book I carried, a burden that felt heavier than the coal I hauled. It is strange how a man can stand in the middle of a collapsing world and worry only about the arithmetic of...

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