The Wistful Ashes
The notice was pinned to the door of the pawnshop, the ink faded by February damp. It read: All pre-Regime ceramics are to be surrendered for sanitization. Non-compliance results in quarantine. Assunta Orsini stood in the back room, her back against the shelf of broken clocks. She was thirty-two. In her hands, she held a bowl. It was cracked down the center, a jagged line like a frozen river....
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