The Wistful Ashes
In the old quarter of Kraków, where the canals ran black with the silt of a hundred floods and the air hung heavy with the scent of wet fish and burning coal, the sky was so clear that the stars seemed to offend the eye with their cold, indifferent geometry. Halina Zielinski sat at the head of the long table in the feast hall, her hands folded in her lap, watching the candlelight tremble...
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