The Wistful Ashes
Lucia Serrano asked the magistrate if a man could breathe without air, a question that hung in the kiln-thick heat of the office while he tapped his slide rule against the mahogany desk, a rhythmic, wooden percussion that marked the seconds of her life being calculated. She had traveled from the terraced villages, where the war levy had stripped the soil of its last copper coins, to the capital...
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